


Wreckt

by marshmallons



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Drama & Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Prideshipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-06-05 16:17:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15174566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marshmallons/pseuds/marshmallons
Summary: Who would have guessed that a fistfight with Joey Wheeler would be the catalyst that brought Kaiba and Atem together?[Prideshipping, one-sided pining, enemies to friends to lovers, eventual romantic and sexual themes.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate summary: Kaiba gets rekt

Atem’s life points trickled down to zero. 

He should have been happy. He should have been reigning victorious, gloating, relishing in the rush of adrenaline that always came after defeating a particularly difficult opponent. 

Kaiba didn’t feel any of that. He was enraged. 

The point tracker blinked at him tauntingly from above Atem’s shoulder across the arena, showing to everyone in the room —not that there’s anyone there except himself, Atem, and that insufferable friendship crew— that Atem had been defeated yet again. 

It infuriated him. 

It wasn’t like before, when his rage came from a place of wounded pride and egotism. They were both acutely aware that there had been a distinct shift in their dynamic ever since the decisive end of the Ceremonial Duel— there had been some magical _bullshit_ involved, some so-called contract with the gods, and Atem had returned as his own self, a person separate from Yugi Mutou. Kaiba had always known on some level that he had dueled a different person despite the shared nomen and corpus, that the Yugi he confronted in the arena was succinctly different from the Yugi who would appear after the duel, mild-mannered and wide-eyed— but Atem hadn’t returned the same opponent Kaiba had always known. 

He had returned a different person, perhaps matured or enlightened after the trials he had endured, or so claimed to have endured. Kaiba hadn’t wasted a moment before challenging him again— and he had reclaimed his title of King of Games with confusing ease. The first victory against Atem had come as such a surprise that he had thought it was a fluke— the effect of a brick hand or unlucky draw. The next victory had been equally decisive, and the one after that and the one after that.

Neither his deck nor his playing strategies had substantially changed, but he had not won a single duel since his return from the apparent afterlife. 

There had been no easy explanation for it, except the logical conclusion that Atem had to be trying to appease him, playing him as a lesser opponent and allowing him to win. It would be an insult to his pride, even worse than a well-fought loss against the Pharaoh, and Kaiba needed to know whether or not Atem was throwing away the duels. Defeating Atem had been Kaiba’s singular drive and pursuit for years, and now that he held his reclaimed title in the palm of his hand, it didn’t bring him any of the satisfaction that it was supposed to, and it made him feel ill at ease each time he watched the Pharaoh’s life-points drop down to zero. He needed to defeat him without the possibility that Atem was going easy on him, needed his victory to feel well-deserved and decisive, in order to truly move on from the rivalry that had held them in chains since the first day they met. 

The only rational way to test his suspicion was to play Atem with a weak hand, and _Atem still lost._

Kaiba exploded into a fit of rage and brought his hands crashing down onto the control panel of the dueling machine. 

“You went easy on me. There’s no way you could have lost! I was wide open for attack twice and you didn’t strike!” 

Atem stood across from him calmly, clearly unbothered by his shouting and accusations, and that only fueled his anger. Kaiba slammed his hands down again, with enough force that it made his hands ache and tingle numbly right down to the tip of his fingernails. The resounding crash echoed through the silent arena. “Tell me why you’re losing on purpose!” 

“I didn’t lose on purpose, Kaiba,” Atem said irritably. A frown passed over his face, doing away with his calm composure and revealing something more dangerous and moody. 

“You’re going easy on me,” he spat, voice sharp and accusing, eyes narrowing into a defiant glare that dared Atem to say otherwise. “You’re holding back and I want to know _why_.”

“Kaiba, I didn’t go easy on you and I never have. I trust in my cards. I work to create a good balance in my deck. But sometimes, victory _is_ just plain luck of the draw.” Atem drew a hand through his fluffy blond bangs, the rest of his hair swept into a distracting little bun at the nape of his neck. It was an exasperated gesture, and Kaiba suspected that Atem was struggling not to roll his eyes. His tone was exaggeratedly patient and slow, as if he was addressing a particularly small child. “ Would it make you feel better about your victory if I said I drew a brick hand?”

“Of course not. I need to know I defeated you by talent and strategy, not plain _luck_.” 

He already had, plenty of times. He had proven himself the better duelist and still refused to accept it.

“Hey, that’s enough, Kaiba!” Joey called out from the sidelines. Kaiba wheeled around sharply to give him the coldest, cruelest glares he had ever directed to another person in his life— and he had directed plenty. 

“This is between the two champion duelists in the arena. I didn’t ask to hear your amateur opinion,” he said contemptuously, and watched with cruel satisfaction as a mix of anger and hurt flashed across the golden-haired boy’s face. 

Joey had improved substantially over the years, had even surprised Kaiba by consistently placing second or third in championships ever since the Battle City Tournament years before, but it was an insult that never failed to hurt him— and subsequently an insult Kaiba never hesitated to hold against him. 

“Now wait a minute, that was a low-blow,” the other boy protested.

Kaiba distantly recognized him as Tristan, the tall, lanky, brown-haired boy who never failed to stand at the sidelines of every competition and the only other member of Yugi’s crew who never dueled. 

He was hardly worth the breath it took to respond. Kaiba turned his nose up condescendingly and wheeled back around to face Atem, only to see that he had already stepped down from the dueling platform and was beginning to walk toward his friends. 

Kaiba’s pulse stalled, skipped a beat, and restarted with a vengeance. Atem was _ignoring_ him, walking away from him calmly as if he hadn’t just undermined the entire foundation of their rivalry by losing without even half the fight that made dueling him so compelling. 

Riveting. 

Irresistible. 

Kaiba grit his jaw tightly until he heard the bones in his face grind and his teeth ached with tension, and flicked a switch that erased the remaining monster holographs from the field with a silent whir. He stalked off the stadium, each footstep crashing down the stairs with a vengeance, and stomped on over toward the group of friends he could never seem to avoid, had never been able to escape since high school. 

“Atem.” He sneered the name like a curse, lips curling into a scowl around the word as he formed it. “This isn’t over—” Was it ever over between them? “—until you duel me like I deserve. Duel me again. _Defeat me_.”

“Kaiba, I already—”

“No, you didn’t do anything. A rematch, right now.”

“Hey, we have plans already!”

There was another innocent protest and a murmur of discontent from somewhere behind him, but he ignored it. 

Kaiba grabbed Atem by the front of his shirt, twisting the coarse black fabric in his fist and glaring down into the wide, unblinking violet eyes that stared up at him unfailingly. Atem didn’t even flinch, certainly didn’t make a move to threaten him back, but his cool gaze made his stomach twist unpleasantly. 

“Kaiba, I am _not_ going to duel you again.” His voice was beginning to raise and he wrapped a hand around Kaiba’s wrist, forcing himself out of his iron grip and smoothing down his shirt. He held his head up with imperial dignity, even though he had lost, he was a _loser_ , and took a step back to put a safe distance between himself and Kaiba’s accosting hands. “Not today. I may have lost, but I gave you my all. You’re just going to have to believe me.” 

“You’re lying,” Kaiba said quietly, lowering his voice for privacy, but it was no less heated and intense than before. 

His head angled down to face Atem, allowing his hair to fall over his brow and cast shadows over the deep, bruise-like set of the hollows under his eyes. He fixed an intense stare at Atem, the same look of intense rivalry and dedication that never failed to overwhelm him during each encounter in the arena. 

“That wasn’t good enough.” 

Atem shook his head with an unfathomable expression on his face. His heart pounded, an unmentionable longing rising out from beneath the surface, where he often suffocated it and pretended he felt nothing for the man standing just a few easily-crossed inches away from him. “Kaiba, it will never be enough for you.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

Atem didn’t answer, turning around and walking away without a word of explanation. Kaiba growled deep in his throat and didn’t let him go, stalking after him with long, measured footsteps and grabbing him by the hand. His long fingers easily wrapped around the delicate bones of his wrist, leaving Atem no choice but to stand there, although Atem’s temper was also beginning to run short, if the twitch of his fingers into a tight fist was any indication. 

“Tell me what you mean!”

“Kaiba, leave him alone already!” 

Then Joey was there, sticking his nose where it didn’t belong and sticking up for Atem. He squared his shoulders and puffed his chest, drawing himself out of his typical semi-slumped posture and into his full height, which still fell short, but nearly put him nose to nose with Kaiba. His stance was confrontational and imposing and had it been any other man he was going up against, Joey would have scared the shit out of him, but Kaiba met his truculence with a bored, impatient glare. 

“It’s alright Joey—” Atem shifted uncomfortably, angling his body to provide a barricade between the two of them. He eyed them both warily, well-aware that their tempers were evenly matched and the animosity rising between them was just waiting for a spark.

“Stay out of this, Wheeler!” Kaiba snapped, quickly losing all remaining patience. The hand that wasn’t still holding Atem’s wrist curled into a fist at his side. “Why are you here? This was supposed to be a _private_ event between myself and the Pharaoh!”

“We’re here because we were gonna catch a movie after this dumb duel of yours! Quit your whinin’ and let Atem go already!”

“Go on without him.” 

“He came with us!”

“Then Isono will drive him back to you. _After_ our rematch!”

“Don’t I have a say in this?” Atem asked weakly, and without missing a beat or breaking the hostile glaring contest, Joey and Kaiba shouted “No!” in unison. 

“Look, Kaiba, either you let us leave now or I’m gonna fight you myself,” Joey threatened, raising a curled hand to his face and jutting his chin out defiantly. “Yeah, that’s right, you heard me. A fight, not a duel!” 

Kaiba’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Is that a threat, Wheeler?”

“Joey, no,” Yugi said, his voice coming from behind the taller boy's shoulder. 

“Yeah, you bet it is,” Joey said solemnly, ignoring Yugi, and Kaiba felt a rush of excitement.

“I don’t have time for empty threats, Wheeler,” he drawled, sizing him up and warily eyeing the considerable hulk of his shoulders. 

He was sure he had once heard a rumor that Joey had been involved in a gang in high school, which he didn’t doubt. Joey was certainly enough of a brute that it was completely plausible that he was a former gang member. 

Kaiba was even sure that that the excessive street-fighting and brawling explained Wheeler's abysmally low measures of brain activity. 

Nevertheless, where Joey was well-versed in fighting, Kaiba had never even thrown a punch in his life. A swipe with a suitcase, occasionally throwing things at his assailants, even the rare slap, but he had never been trapped in a fistfight before. Isono and a full team of hired security had always been there to protect him long before the events could escalate to the point of needing self-defence. 

There was something dangerous and alluring about the premise of provoking someone into a fight.

“This ain’t no empty threat, Kaiba. It’s been a long time comin’ and it’s not right that you think you can keep us here just ‘cause you’re being a sore loser!” 

“I _won_ ,” Kaiba sneered, and stabbed a finger right into the center of Joey’s chest. The curved tip of his fingernail created a wrinkle in the fabric of his shirt, and he could see the annoyance on his face. “Winning isn’t my problem. My only problem now is dealing with the Pharaoh’s annoying harem, especially his obedient little attack dog—”

He saw it coming, but didn’t react quickly enough. Joey’s fist connected to Kaiba’s cheek with a loud crack of skin on skin and the pop of his jaw being shifted out of place. 

Pain exploded across the side of his face.

“Fuck!” 

He recoiled backward, raising a hand to his face, but his own frustration, accumulated over the course of the last few months, boiled over. He ignored the pulsing pain at his cheek, and with a sudden burst of adrenaline, he swung his own fist at Wheeler’s face.

He threw all his strength into the blow and the evidence was the resounding click of Joey’s jaw snapping shut— and the accompanying crack of his own thumb when it snapped and fractured. 

Joey stared at him dumbly, either impressed and stunned or _both_ that Kaiba would ever react that way, before his murky brown eyes fell to Seto’s hand, which he was shaking out with a grimace, as if that would set the fissured bone back into place. Joey didn’t even look phased by the blow, which was equal parts infuriating and embarrassing. 

Kaiba had literally broken a finger and Joey had gotten off without so much as an immediate bruise. 

Goddamn.

“Gee, bet nobody taught ya to keep your thumb on the outside of your fist, huh?” Joey taunted obnoxiously, making a repugnant face at Kaiba. “Not bad for a first shot, rich boy, but it wasn’t too good either.”

“I’ve always had people to take care of the likes of you.” Kaiba sneered down his nose at Joey, matching his ugly leer with a dark look. “Why should I ever waste my time fighting you when there are far better things to do with my time?”

“Stop fighting, you two—” 

Atem tried to intervene, looking deeply disturbed and discomforted by the fight that had broken out on his behalf. He ran a hand through his hair uneasily and tried to pacify the violent tension in the room, stepping in between the two to physically block them from striking again, but they sidestepped him easily and lined up toe to toe again. It was impossible to distract Kaiba from the dark scowl he directed toward Joey, and the grin on Joey’s face was absolutely bloodthirsty. 

“Kaiba, you can’t take me on your own.”

“Given our past history of battles, it should be clear that I never emerge anything but victorious.”

“Hey, this ain’t like card games. You’re playing my game now!” 

Kaiba threw his head back and laughed.

“You’ve never been anything but a low-life _loser_ —”

Joey lunged at him. 

He really should have known better. Joey was nearly six feet of pure strength and lean muscle, and he had clearly been looking for a fight all those years that Kaiba had known him, and he literally leapt at the first opportunity. 

The fist that was coming at him held every bit of resentment and loathing that Joey had been restraining for years— and it was coming at his face dangerously quickly and lethally accurate, despite the dismayed protests that burst out from everyone in the room. 

“Wait, Joey—”

“Joey, don’t!”

Kaiba recoiled out of instinct, drawing back to step out of harm’s way, but when he took a step back, he stumbled on one of the steps to the dueling stage, and before he could frantically scramble to regain his balance, he tumbled backward and fell, not only bringing Joey down with him, but crashing down onto him. 

Everything happened in a span of milliseconds. 

They fell in an inelegant tangle of knees, elbows, and gangly limbs. While he caught Joey in the chin with his own sharp elbow, the blond boy landed on him, sprawling out clumsily onto his midsection. The wind was knocked out of him, and when Kaiba lurched forward and sputtered out a sharp, pained gasp, something inside him gave in with a loud, sickening _crack_ that resonated throughout his entire body.

Everyone paused for a long, horrified moment, before they snapped into action and frantically tried to break them apart.

“Joey, get off him!” 

“Are you guys alright?!”

Wheeler was slow to react. He stood stupidly, holding his face in pain, where a swollen, pinked stretch along his jaw was already threatening to burgeon into a nasty bruise, until Kaiba kicked at him weakly. 

The action sent a twinge of pain racing down his own torso, but he managed to clip Joey’s ear with the point of his toe and barked, “Get the fuck off me, you bastard!”

“Hey, you’re the one who started this mess!” Joey shouted back furiously, breathless, but he complied and scrabbled to stand up with a wince, reaching a hand up to cradle his sore jaw. Tristan rushed to his side, checking his buddy out for injuries, while Anzu began to scold him right where Joey left off.

“He’s right! It’s your fault for challenging Atem to a duel again! You shouldn’t try to battle him if you can’t face up to your losses, Kaiba!” 

Her hands were posed haughtily on her slender hips, polished pink fingernails standing out against the black of her miniskirt, and Kaiba was momentarily distracted by the dizzying jingle of her bracelets at her wrists. 

The quiet little clinks of her jewelry bounced around in his head with a cavernous echo that made him feel dizzy and ill. Was he concussed? He didn’t remember hitting his head when he fell, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he did. 

“Just what I needed. A lecture from the _cheerleader_ who doesn’t duel.”

He heard the mild slur in his own voice. He definitely had a concussion. 

“Your fight is with me, Kaiba. Don’t lash out at my friends for the resentment you feel toward me,” Atem said coldly, voice deeper and sharper than Kaiba had ever heard it before. But in contrast to the tone of his voice, there was nothing but concern on his face. 

That was worse than rage. Rage he could match and counter, but sympathy was sickening. Kaiba looked away, to the side, any place other than the soft, worried gaze that was looking over him, searching for injury. 

Atem reached a hand out and Kaiba stared at it suspiciously, but there was nothing dangerous about the clean, beautifully rounded fingernails, slender fingers adorned in slim golden rings, and wide, open palm that was silently offering help. 

Kaiba slapped the hand away like it personally offended him and struggled to sit up on his own, but the movement burned in his chest like a white-hot iron rod jammed between his ribs. The pain was dizzying and sent black spots dancing across his blurry vision, and he leaned back onto his palms to ease the tension off his chest, shuddering violently. 

His entire face blanched, becoming deathly pallid with pain. Atem had been disappointed, even mildly hurt, that Kaiba had slapped his hand away, but when he saw the pain he was in, he looked over him suspiciously, and it only took one glance at him to know right away that something was wrong. 

Atem looked over Kaiba’s legs and his stiff torso, rising and falling shallowly with pained breaths, and he realized that Kaiba was unconsciously holding one hand limply against his chest, propping his weight on the other. He inspected the slender arm with a critical gaze, searching for the source of his pain, and when his gaze reached the slender line of his delicate wrist, he recoiled. 

Kaiba’s wrist was bent at the wrong angle, the span of his lower forearm rising and falling unevenly in a severe fracture. The tender skin of his inner wrist looked thin and stretched tight over a jut of bone that was nearly protruding right out of his skin, and the fact that Kaiba was hardly reacting at all, grimacing as if it were a mild inconvenience, was even more jarring than the grotesque sight of his misshapen limb itself. 

Anzu reacted first, gasping audibly and crying out, “Look at his hand!” 

It was only then that Joey saw the obvious damage to his wrist. His eyes widened to near-comic proportions, but they were filled with genuine remorse and horror. Where Kaiba might have laughed at someone else’s misfortune, Joey winced and looked contrite and desperate to help. 

The hostility in the air immediately dissipated, and Joey raked his fingers through his messy mop of hair, vexed. 

“Holy shit! Kaiba, you alright?” 

“What the fuck do you think?!” 

Kaiba’s face twisted with rage and agony, and he spat to the side balefully, emitting a clot of blood and soured saliva. It was becoming more and more difficult to breathe and his chest was rising and falling in quick, shallow little bursts of laborious breathing. His wrist ached dully, only hurt violently whenever he tried to move his hands, but his chest was cramped and tight and only felt worse with every passing second that he tried to breathe normally. 

Anzu stood paralyzed, holding Yugi’s arm fearfully, while Joey paced back and forth maddeningly. 

“Guys, should we call him an ambulance?”

"We gotta take him to the hospital!" 

"We should do something!"

“That won’t be necessary.” 

Kaiba ignored the concerned look on Anzu’s face and the hand reaching out toward him tentatively, helplessly, and pushed a small distress button on the face of his watch. He had to clamp his teeth down violently on his bottom lip to keep a pained cry from ripping out of his throat when he shifted his broken wrist, and the pain was enough for his eyes to begin to sting with tears.

The swollen stretch of skin had already become mottled with black and blue contusions and sickly green swelling, an appalling contrast to the cool tone of the rest of his skin. It was painful to look at and even more painful to bear, and Kaiba began to count the minutes until Isono would appear in response to the automatic distress dispatch. 

“Don’t you have to go to the hospital?” 

Kaiba shot Yugi an exasperated, impatient look. “ _No_ , I’m sure this—” He held up his wrist without thinking, shifting it further out of place. His vision warped and went black for a long moment before he finished in a gasp, “—will heal itself!”

Yugi flinched at his harsh tone, but Kaiba was in too much pain to bask in his reaction for very long.

“Sorry, I just..well, uh, I just agree with Anzu. Maybe we should call an ambulance to get you to the hospital. Please Kaiba, that looks really painful!”

“I already said that it’s not necessary,” Kaiba repeated, becoming increasingly irate. “I have a personal physician on-call for house visits to the mansion, specifically for scenarios like these. Isono will take me there.”

After a moment’s pause, when Yugi’s lower lip continued to quiver and the deep wrinkle didn’t disappear from between his brows, he gruffly added, “Stop worrying already. I’ll be okay, Mutou.”

The heavy doors to the private dueling arena slammed open with an unexpected bang and Isono rushed in through them, shoulders drawn and ready to face any danger. Two security guards followed close behind him, and when Isono spotted Kaiba on the floor, his mouth fell open— either in relief to see him employer intact in one piece after he had activated the code-red distress button, or surprised to see the normally-composed CEO sprawled across the floor like a discarded doll. 

His expression wasn’t visible from behind his shield-style sunglasses, but the visible tick in his square jaw revealed his concern, and he rushed swiftly to Seto’s side. 

“Mr. Kaiba, are you alright?” he asked urgently, assessing the damage with a trained, critical eye. Up close, Kaiba could see his wide eyes behind the tint of his sunglasses, and he knew that Isono’s concern was sincere, unlike everyone else’s. 

“Yes,” Kaiba said stiffly. “Help me up.” 

Kaiba’s pride stung fiercely as he allowed Isono to help bring him to his feet, finally standing with a gasp and his broken wrist pressed to his chest pathetically. 

Yugi looked at him with kindness and sympathy in those wide violet eyes, while Tristan and Anzu looked uncomfortable and mildly disgusted by the sight of the violent bruises and faint hint of bone visible beneath his skin. Joey stood the closest, still within arm’s reach, with a guilty look on his face, and Atem stood aloof, looking to the side, unable to meet Kaiba’s gaze. 

That stung the most. Kaiba clenched his jaw in anger, fingers twitching into a fist. 

_Look at me, you coward_ , he thought viciously, the bitter thought coming into his mind like a hiss. _Look at what you caused_. 

Kaiba walked stiffly through the small crowd of friends, making up for his scalding shame and disgrace, painted across his face in the form of a deep red flush, with extra rigid posture.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Joey hesitate and then spring forward to walk along beside him. 

“Well fuck, I’m real sorry Kaiba. I didn’t think I was gonna bust you up that bad,” he said with a wince, rubbing the nape of his neck in discomfort and not meeting his eyes. His awkward tone and the constant shifting of his feet indicated that his apology was sincere, and it made Kaiba want to punch him again, broken thumb be damned. 

Maybe he could punch with his left and break the other thumb too.

“Don’t kid yourself. You didn’t do this damage to me, you overgrown spore,” he said spitefully, cutting him down with a cruel, contemptuous smirk. “I was hurt because the dueling arena was made with state-of-the-art craftsmanship and near-indestructible materials. The only fault is my own damn perfect creation, and I won’t let you take any credit for it.” 

Joey blinked, clearly receiving an answer he had not been expecting, and eloquently asked, “Huh?”

“I’m hurt because KaibaCorp produces indestructible technology,” Kaiba bit out, enunciating each word slowly and precisely, in a tone that suggested he was being incredibly patient. Or Joey exceptionally dumb. “ _Not_ because you’re an idiot who can’t even stand on his own two feet.”

Joey easily forgot all about his remorse and guilty conscience. 

“Hey, indestructible my ass! I remember those things malfunctioning a couple of times! B‘sides, I knocked you right out,” he said heatedly, hovering beside Seto and Isono intimidatingly until Anzu grabbed him by the ear with an annoyed click of her tongue. 

“Look, knucklehead, do you want Kaiba to sue you for all you’re worth? No? Then shut your big mouth for two seconds, Joey!” 

All the color drained from Joey’s face and he raised a hand to the nape of his neck awkwardly. He very clearly hadn’t considered the possible repercussions of beating up the city’s most influential CEO. Kaiba might have laughed at the helpless expression on his face if he didn't feel so dizzy and nauseous. 

“...You got a point there, Anzu,” Joey admitted with a grimace, and looked to Kaiba fearfully, as if searching for a reassurance that he wouldn’t be sued penniless. 

Seto exhaled sharply. The adrenaline from the entire catastrophe was beginning to wear off, leaving him pained and weak. He was becoming delirious with exhaustion, and even managed to choke out a short bark of sarcastic laughter.

“Oh, spare me. He’s hardly even worth the lawyer’s fee.” 

His eyes began to close against his will and it was difficult to keep them open and remain standing at the same time. He leaned heavily against Isono, feeling faint, but it didn’t stop him from spitefully murmuring, “Besides, I have pocket lint worth more than Wheeler and the rest of you combined.” 

* * *

When Kaiba woke up, it was to an empty bedroom filled to the brim with colorful, delicate flowers. 

The sweet, mildly fragrant scent made him want to retch. 

The rest of his room was just as he left it that morning— windows drawn, desk neatly chaotic, disorganized with scattered folders and papers and pens. The room, with the exception of the work desk and encapsulating area around it, was as clean and bare as a hotel bedroom— its only occupant passed each night in transit, stopping by only in fleeting moments. Velvety navy drapes blocked out the evening’s setting sun, allowing only a thin sliver of faintly red dimming sunlight to stream in through the gap between the curtains, painting the bedroom in a romantic warm glow. 

It was completely quiet and nearly surreally peaceful. He couldn’t remember the last time he had simply lay still and allowed himself to bask in the comfort of his own bed, not thinking, not planning, and not doing anything but allowing the tactile pleasure to wash over him. The clean white bedding felt cool and comforting against his skin and he wanted to bury his bruised face into the luxuriously soft pillows beneath him, an indulgence he rarely took part in.

His heavy eyelids wanted to remain shut for another few hours, but his mind was already beginning to stir awake, and he fought off the lethargy in order to force himself to sit up— only to curse loudly in pain and wake up the sleeping figure he hadn’t noticed at the foot of his bed. 

Mokuba lay curled by the edge, covered in his own wrinkled clothing and the edge of a blanket he had untucked from the corner of the bed to cover his short little legs. 

He woke up slowly, startled awake by the abrupt noise, and blinked his eyes open with confusion and sleepiness, clearly disoriented to have woken up in a bed that wasn’t his own, before he seemed to remember where he was and why. 

His eyes became a little more alert when he turned to his brother, and they widened with relief and excitement when he saw that Kaiba was finally awake and struggling to sit up, albeit with a pained grimace.

“Seto!” 

Unable to throw his arms around Kaiba’s torso, Mokuba improvised and settled for throwing on arm across his legs, which were easily within reach anyway.

The slight movement jostled Kaiba and sent a twinge of pain, like the discomfort of pins and needles after his leg had fallen asleep, racing down his entire body. 

“Hey kiddo,” he said, and heard the crack in his raspy voice. His mouth was dry and filmy and he cleared his throat with disgust, acutely aware of his own stale breath. He wanted to crawl out of bed and brush his teeth, but his legs were refusing to respond to the instructions his brain was screaming at them. “How long was I out?”

Mokuba yawned, flashing Kaiba a glimpse of slightly crooked bottom teeth. He kicked off the sheets that were wrapped around his legs and sprang up to Kaiba’s side to check his pupils. “Just an hour. How're you feeling? Oh, and Atem wanted to stick around to see if you were gonna be alright, ‘cuz he feels real bad about what happened, but I kicked him out because you needed to rest.” 

Mokuba’s eyebrows drew together into a frown and he growled deep in his throat. Kaiba was startled by the ferocity in his brother’s voice when he bit out, “And he _should_ feel bad. It’s his fault you got injured in the first place.” 

It was mostly Wheeler’s fault, but Kaiba didn’t bother correcting him. Instead, he was relieved that Atem hadn’t been allowed to wait for him to wake up. That was an encounter that he wanted to put off for as long as possible. He wasn’t sure how would save face, or if he could even, and his pride had been beaten in beyond repair. He had been humiliated twice— defeated at the hands of Mutou and put down through the floor by the hands of Wheeler.

Just thinking about it made his blood boil. 

“Good. I don’t want them here,” he said bitterly, and even he was surprised by the acerbic bite of his voice. “They’ve humiliated me for the last time.” 

Kaiba’s right hand began to itch, but when he reached to scratch it with his left, his fingers clumsily bumped into thick, gauzy swathes of cotton instead of his own skin. He patted it down with a bewildered, wide-eyed frown, looking down to his own hand and staring at the bandages wrapped around his hand and forearm like it was foreign material he had never seen before. 

“What’s this?”

Mokuba winced and reached out to keep him from prodding at the bandages too roughly. “Your wrist was really messed up, bro. You’re gonna have to get some pins to set it right, but for now the doc said you have to wear the bandages to get some of the swelling down.” 

He had always been cold, mechanical, robotic— now a part of him would forever match that description.

“That’s just great.”

Kaiba snorted at his own thought process, amused by his own strange genius. Mokuba tilted his head to the side, looking at him with wide, curious eyes, a question clearly unspoken, and he explained very simply, “I’m funny.” 

“Oh, that’s the medication. Isono said they might make your head feel a little funny,” Mokuba said sympathetically, wrinkling his nose. Kaiba wondered if that was the reason why he couldn’t feel the furthest parts of his body— he couldn’t control his fingers, numbly watched them move in the air as if they were an entirely separate entity apart from his body, and he didn’t feel his legs at all. 

“Huh.” 

Even his tongue felt thick and out of place in his dry mouth. 

“Don’t worry, Seto. Me ‘n Isono are gonna take good care of you while you recover!” 

"So, what happened to me?"

"You broke your wrist, bruised a couple of ribs, and broke your thumb. And you have a mild concussion." Mokuba cocked his head to the side and looked at him with curious eyes and a frown. "I get how you broke your wrist and ribs and the concussion, ‘cause Yugi said you fell real bad. But how’d you break your thumb, Seto?"

Kaiba closed his eyes with a sigh, feigning exhaustion, and trapped a harsh growl in his throat. He would have to show Mokuba how to throw a proper fist one day. 

“Punched that loser Wheeler really hard.”

“You punched Joey?”

“Yes.”

“...and you got hurt, instead of him?”

Kaiba clenched his jaw and shot Mokuba a warning look. Mokuba raised his hands innocently in the air.

“Well, he’s so damn thick-headed, it only makes sense that I hurt my hand.”

“Right…”

Kaiba made an effort to sit up, losing his breath and hurting his torso in the process, before he gave up and sank back against the mound of pillows propped against the headboard of his bed. His back ached, stiff and sore from laying down for so long, and he was acutely aware that it was sometime in the early evening, when he should have still been working at his desk or in his office. 

He should be working, focusing on boosting productivity and luring investors to continue funding his latest project. It made him uncomfortable to be out of action, but he could hardly bring himself to sit upright, and he reluctantly conceded that it might be a few days before he would be back in commission. 

“Mokuba.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to need to take a few days off, aren’t I?”

“Yep." Mokuba popped his lips cutely on the _p_. "Doc said you’re not allowed to go to work until your ribs are all healed up. He said you can work from home as long as you don’t hurt yourself. You’re not gonna be able to write though.” 

Kaiba sighed and ran his uninjured hand through his hair wearily. He had broken the wrist of his dominant hand, and while he was ambidextrous, there was only so much he could do with limited movement of his right hand.

“Have Isono check with my secretary and reschedule any meetings that require my presence. And I’m going to need a suit tailored to fit a cast on my wrist.”

Mokuba bobbed his head and looked bored and sleepy. He yawned again and looked ready to nod off right where he was sitting on Kaiba’s bed. “Got it. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Don’t let Yugi or any one of his loser friends visit. I don’t want to see anyone who isn’t you or Isono, and I don’t want any of their damn sympathy.” 

Mokuba looked too tired to follow or to ask any questions. “You got it, big bro.”

Kaiba felt his pleasant, slight weight pressing into his side as Mokuba leaned in closer toward the center of the bed. His wild, untamed hair tickled the high points of Seto’s cheekbones and he was struck by the subtle, sweet scent of shampoo and boyish sweat. It was soft to the touch and the gentle, fading light in the room cast a glossy sheen over his dark hair. Kaiba didn’t say a word, but he relaxed and allowed Mokuba to sink against him.

“Hey, Seto?”

“What?”

“Did you break your thumb ‘cause you punched Joey the wrong way?”

“Yeah.”

“'Kay. Keep your thumb inside your fist next time.”

Kaiba laughed quietly, a breathless chuckle, and tousled Mokuba’s hair with a roll of his eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

* * *

“What were they thinking?”

Atem paced in frantic circles around the tiny, cramped bedroom he shared with Yugi. Yugi sat at the foot of his bed, watching him retrace his steps over and over, and sighed. 

“They’ve been fighting for a long time. They never really got along, and I guess it was just bound to happen sooner or later.” 

The soft, star-printed carpet on the floor bore the evidence of Atem’s manic pacing. He came to an abrupt stop in the center of the faint ring in the carpet and ran a hand through his hair, sending the soft blond bangs that framed his face into further disarray. 

“I know. But they were both acting foolishly, and now Kaiba is badly hurt because neither of them knew when to stop,” he said, and frowned. 

Neither of them wanted to blame Joey, not when Kaiba was equally at fault for provoking him in the first place. They sat in silence a moment, Atem frowning and Yugi staring blankly at a loose thread on the carpet on his floor. 

“Maybe you should visit him,” Yugi said abruptly, breaking both the silence and his voice. He winced and cleared his throat awkwardly, but his voice was steely with determination when he spoke again. “Kaiba, I mean. After all, it seems like maybe there was something else that he was upset about, and he took his frustration out on Joey.”

Atem felt a pang of guilt. He knew the source of Kaiba’s frustration, and he knew that he was the intended recipient of his explosive temper— Joey had just gotten caught in the crosshairs. 

Atem bit the tender inside of his cheek until his mouth became numb, before he sighed and nodded slowly, reluctantly. 

“Yes, I think you’re right. I’ll visit Kaiba tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sure love to make Kaiba suffer, huh? 
> 
> This fic started an experiment in style and tone, so please bear with me as I try to figure out what the hell a consistent writing style is! This will probably be a short project, just a couple of chapters. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	2. Chapter 2

Tomorrow became next week. Atem put off the visit for as long as he could, simply because he didn’t know what he was going to say once he was actually standing in front of Kaiba, face to face.

_Hey, sorry about your fall._

_Hey, how’re you feeling? Yeah, Mokuba said you had a concussion. And bruised ribs. And a broken wrist. A thumb. You’re right, I should have known. No, I shouldn’t ask stupid questions. Sorry._

_Hey, so how about that weather, huh?_

Every imaginary scenario that played through his head like a scene from a movie reel resulted in the same outcome. Kaiba would throw him out from the mansion and potentially hurl something after him, like a hardcover book or a printer, alongside an entire onslaught of deadly insults.

They had hardly ever been on good terms in the first place, if at all, and he really doubted that the current situation and the unfortunate series of events that led up to Kaiba’s mandatory bedrest would help strengthen their already-tenuous relationship in any way whatsoever. 

It was only after Yugi had nagged him all morning, insisted that he finally follow up on an apology, that Atem found himself standing outside the doors to the Kaiba mansion, fidgeting in place and trying hard not to look too out of place among the perfect shrubbery and elegant entrance. He had dreaded every single footstep that had led him up to the beautiful stained-glass door, had caught a bad case of cold feet long before he had even crossed the immaculate lawn and reached the front door. 

He desperately wanted to leave, even briefly considered leaving the bouquet at the threshold with a note and bailing, but he had already been sighted by security at the gates that lined the entrance of the property, and he was sure that someone in the household had already been alerted to the presence of a visitor. Kaiba was surely waiting for him to appear, if only to angrily throw him out, and the only thing worse than seeing Kaiba and being on the receiving end of his scorn and resentment was giving him the satisfaction of knowing that he had chased him off without even having to lift a finger against him. 

Atem had just mustered the courage to reach a slightly-trembling hand up to knock on the door when it swung open abruptly, revealing a figure even shorter than he was behind the door. 

He blinked and lowered his hand awkwardly. “Mokuba. It’s good to see you again.”

“Hey Atem. What’re you doing here?

He didn’t miss the note of petulance in Mokuba’s voice. He also didn’t forget that Mokuba had been incredibly angry at him the week before when he found out that Seto had been badly injured. He had blamed Atem for all of it, and Atem hadn’t corrected him. 

He wasn’t quite sure that he was wrong.

And now, Atem had the distinct feeling that Mokuba was blocking the entrance to the mansion and was doing his best to keep him from entering. A hideous sensation of guilt crept up on him. 

“I came to see Kaiba. I wanted to see how he was recovering,” he said slowly, picking his words out with extreme care in order to avoid pissing off the younger Kaiba brother. It was all he could stand to know that Seto despised him; he certainly didn’t want Mokuba, who was lively and friendly with him and the gang on good days, to despise him too. 

An unknown emotion flickered over Mokuba’s face and his mouth tightened into a solemn line. It was strange to see such a serious expression on his childish face. “He’s doing better. He got those pins in his wrist a few days ago and his ribs are coming along alright, ‘cause he’s been in bed all week.”

“I’m very relieved to hear that,” Atem said lightly, making an effort to keep his tone amicable and conciliatory. Mokuba was just protecting his brother. He shouldn’t be hurt by the cold reception. “I am glad to hear his recovery is going well. I was worried about him.”

A tiny hint of a smile appeared on Mokuba’s round little face. 

“Yeah, well, it hasn’t been easy,” he admitted, a dimple popping into his cheek when he finally smiled, even though he was clearly trying —and failing— to remain annoyed with Atem. “Seto hates staying in bed. He keeps trying to sneak away to work, but me n’ Isono alway catch him before he reaches the front door.”

Atem breathed out a laugh. That sounded like the Seto Kaiba he knew— stubborn, uncompromising, headstrong. He took orders from no one, not even kindly-intended instructions for the sake of his own wellbeing. 

The tiny smile on Mokuba’s face faded away just as quickly as it had appeared and it was replaced by a gloomy frown. “He hates staying here. He doesn’t complain about it in front of me, but I know that he wishes he wasn’t hurt so he can go to work, ‘cause there’s this big project and— well, actually, I probably shouldn’t tell you about it ‘cause it’s confidential info. But he hates being stuck at home.”

Atem sighed and drew a hand through his hair, settling it on the nape of his neck. “We all wish he wasn’t hurt. I can’t begin to apologize enough for hurting him. It was an accident, but I shouldn’t have gotten involved—”

The beginning of his long, regretful apology was cut off abruptly when Mokuba rolled his eyes and fully stepped out from behind the door. Atem could finally see all of him, not just the hazy outline of his face among the shadows of the interior of the house, and as his eyes adjusted to the sudden shift in light, he was struck by the intensity that he hadn’t previously noticed in Mokuba’s narrowed grey eyes.

“Atem, not that this isn’t touching, but you don’t have to apologize to me,” he said bluntly, and something about his expression reminded Atem of Kaiba. He could recognize a trace of Seto’s trademark haughtiness in his voice and posture, right down to the way that Mokuba pointed his snub nose in the air and crossed his arms across his chest. “ _I’m_ fine. Seto’s the one who’s all banged up. You’ve gotta apologize to him, not me.”

“You’re right. That’s exactly why I came, in fact. I wanted to apologize to Kaib—”

“Seto wants to be left alone. I think you should leave.”

“Wait, Mokuba.”

Atem waved the bouquet in his hand around like a child’s pretend-magic wand, and an absurd laugh bubbled up in his throat, along with the sudden surge of desperation he felt to clarify that it was an _accident_ , that he would never want Kaiba to get hurt.

“I just wanted to bring him these and to apologize again on Jo- my behalf. I never meant for him to get hurt, Mokuba, and I know that you know that,” he said impatiently, rushing the words out before Mokuba could interrupt him again. “I want to apologize, Mokuba. To Kaiba, to his face. Please let me.”

Mokuba’s pout wavered, and for the first time, he looked unsure— it finally made him look his age. His lips parted, caught in an inhale, and he nervously played with a strand of dark hair that spilled over his narrow shoulders. He didn’t meet Atem’s gaze. 

“I don’t know...Seto gave me strict orders not to let you or anyone else in unless it’s a emergency,” he admitted in a mumble, eyes glued to the floor. “He would probably be really mad if I let you go inside.”

That stung. Atem tried not to let the hurt show on his face, but his white-knuckled grip on the stem of the bouquet tightened imperceptibly.

“I understand.”

Mokuba’s eyes dropped down to his hand, attention drawn there by the slight crinkle of the cellophane wrapped around the stems of the flowers. He eyed the bouquet and sighed, frowning, and thought to himself for a long minute, visibly hesitant, before he finally nodded and took a small step back. He allowed Atem enough space to slide past him into the mansion and quickly closed the door. 

“Okay, here’s the deal. You can come inside, but you can only see Seto for a few minutes. He’s really not gonna be happy about it, but I’m sure he’ll give you a chance to say sorry before kicking you out.”

Mokuba paused, and raised a finger to his lips. “Actually, he’ll probably give you about two seconds before kicking you out. Or maybe he’ll kick you out on the spot. Just try to make it quick, ‘kay?”

Atem nodded and stepped inside the mansion. The interior was decorated in various shades of cool blue and white, effortless stylish and modern, and a beautiful staircase led up to what he could only assume were the private bedrooms on the second floor. 

He toed off his shoes by the entrance and followed Mokuba into the living room, pausing to admire the high-vaulted ceilings of the room and the sprawling marble floors that were vaguely and eerily reminiscent, if only in size and grandeur, of a palace throne-room he could only faintly remember.

An abstract painting of a blue-eyes white dragon hung over a pristine white sofa that looked entirely untouched, like something directly out of a high-end interior design magazine. Atem stared incredulously. White and light-gray furniture, blue throw pillows, a blue lampshade—

And then it clicked. The decorations and furniture inside Kaiba’s multi-million dollar home matched the color scheme of his favorite monster card. 

It was unbelievably lame, yet endearing. 

He could only gaze in wonder. He couldn’t even speculate whether it was intentional or if Kaiba’s love for blue eyes had become so deeply ingrained into his core that it just became second nature to buy things in various tones of silvery blue and white. 

“Hey, what’re you doing just standing there?” 

Atem blinked and realized he had spaced out in the middle of the living room. Mokuba had circled back and stood impatiently at the foot of the staircase, arms crossed and toe tapping on the floor. 

“Come on, hurry up! Seto should be in his study.” 

Atem followed Mokuba up the stairs in a daze. His feet moved beneath him on autopilot, raising and falling mechanically on the steps, until he stood at the end of a long corridor with many closed rooms lining the walls on both sides of the hall. It was dizzyingly similar to the corridors he had been locked into for the duration of many thousands of years trapped within the millenium puzzle, and for a second he swayed on the spot, hit by a sudden wave of all-too familiar deja vu. 

Mokuba stared at him strangely and waved a hand over his glazed eyes. His brows drew into a concerned frown, and he roughly shook his shoulder. “You okay, Atem?”

Atem released a tremulous exhale. 

“I’m fine, Mokuba. Thank you,” he said, and pushed the lingering discomfort to the back of his mind. 

He inspected the doors curiously, looking for any distinguishing markers, but they were all identical. A small frown wrinkled his brow. “Uh, Mokuba...which room is it?”

Mokuba jerked a thumb over to a door on the left, a little further down from where they were standing. “That’s his office.”

“Aren’t you going inside with me?”

“No way. Good luck though.” 

Mokuba snickered in a way that was remarkably similar to his brother, and before Atem could open his mouth to protest, he darted off to one of the rooms on the opposite end of the long hallway and disappeared inside, closing the door behind himself. Atem only distantly registered the soft bang of the heavy wooden door slamming shut, before he took a few unsteady steps forward toward the door of the office, and hesitated.

The same anxiety and discomfort from before, when he stood outside the mansion, returned to him threefold and he stood in front of the door for a long time— he began to lose track of the minutes he stared at the door, as if it would open itself in front of him if he stared at it long enough. 

He stood, hesitating, and wondered how to proceed. 

Should he knock? Kaiba might order him to identify himself and would never let him enter. But walking inside without warning felt like an invasion of Kaiba’s privacy, and that was almost equally as bad. 

Atem fidgeted in place for a while, fist hovering indecisively over the door, before he squeezed his eyes shut, sucked in a breath, and threw open the door and walked inside before he could change his mind.

He stepped into the study and immediately registered that the room was also decorated and furnished in the same color scheme from downstairs, with the exception of a rich chocolate-brown leather chair behind a sleek chrome and glass desk and velvety, light-blocking curtains at the windows. 

_Then_ he registered that Kaiba was nowhere to be seen, and that the room was completely silent, devoid of any sign of activity. 

He had expected Kaiba to be sitting at his desk, working diligently on some spreadsheet or doing something on his computer or whatever it was that he did, and he was disappointed when he realized he had been bereft the sight of Kaiba working away.

He could only imagine that his brow wrinkled into a frown whenever he was deep in thought, the same way it did whenever one of his tactics was foiled in a duel. He pictured Kaiba’s mouth falling open into a startled _o_ when Atem burst into the room, and catching Kaiba chewing on his lower lip like he swore he had seen him do one time before. The more that he thought about it, the more sore he felt that he had witnessed none of these things. 

Where the hell was he?

Atem took slow, measured steps forward into the center of the room, taking in the sights around him and well-aware that he was trespassing into a highly private room. Isono or Mokuba could walk past the open door and spot him at any second, but the clutter on Kaiba’s desk piqued his interest and appealed to his curiosity. 

The expensive, plush leather easily gave way beneath his weight and he sank comfortably into the high-backed chair. The scent of coffee was ingrained into the leather itself, and Atem had to stop himself from pressing his nose right up into the back of the chair in order to catch the remaining scent of Kaiba’s subtle cologne and strong espresso. 

Atem pushed himself forward, bringing the wheeled chair closer to the desk, and he pictured Kaiba doing exactly that every single day. Something about the thought of sharing this experience with Kaiba sparked a warm feeling in his stomach, and he wistfully touched a loose sheet of paper poking out of the corner of a manila folder. 

Impulsively, he reached for an engraved pen that lay beside the sleeping computer monitor and mindlessly jammed it into the pocket of his black skinny jeans without even appreciating the shiny silver or the elegant, cursive monogram of Kaiba’s initials on the stem. The outline of the pen was clearly visible against his thigh, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, unreasonably happy that he could say he now owned something of Kaiba’s. 

His growing infatuation with Seto Kaiba was becoming a cause for concern. 

Atem forced himself out of the comfortable chair and took one last wistful look at the room, certain that it was the last time he would ever set foot in it. He admired the mini-bar in the corner, pictured Kaiba fixing himself a drink after a long day at work, tie undone and hanging loosely from his collar, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, revealing the slender lines of his collarbones. 

Once he imagined that he couldn’t get the thought out of his head.

He stepped back into the hallway and silently closed the door behind himself, fingers brushing against the cool wood and lingering at the doorknob for just a few seconds. Closing the door to the office felt like closing a door to his brief glimpse into Kaiba’s personal life, and stepping into the hallway felt like stepping back into reality.

Reality was massively underwhelming and disappointing.

Atem steeled himself, prepared himself to give up and leave without seeing Kaiba, before he suddenly remembered that Mokuba said he had been bedridden all week— it only naturally followed that if Kaiba wasn’t in his office, he had to be in his own bedroom. 

Atem’s gaze darted to the first door beside the office. He had never set foot so far into the mansion, but without even knowing how he knew, he was certain that it had to be Kaiba’s room.

He pushed the door open, peered inside tentatively, and promptly reeled, blinking and staring in confusion, while his brain frantically tried to process what the fuck was happening in front of him. 

It took a decent while of open-mouthed staring for him to realize that the tall, misshapen figure in the center of the room was Kaiba, doubled over with a black sweater trapped over his head, and not an eldritch figure that had manifested in the form of a lanky, half-clothed corporate millionaire. 

It looked as if Kaiba had gotten stuck while pulling on a turtleneck. His head was caught somewhere in the amorphous body of the sweater, while the cast on his wrist, a barely visible strip of white against his forearm, snagged the woolly material in place, trapping his arm above his head and making it impossible for Kaiba to get himself out on his own. 

It was all Atem could do to keep from laughing outright at the bizarre sight. 

“Isono. Perfect timing.” Kaiba’s voice was muffled behind the fleecy cashmere, but it was relieved and haughty at once, and Atem was struck, not for the first time, by how Kaiba could hold on to his pride even in the most absurd scenarios. “I’m stuck.” 

Atem hesitated, before cracking a shy smile —as if Kaiba could even see it— and clearing his throat. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not Isono.” 

He had hardly opened his mouth before Kaiba immediately identified him by voice. The responding growl was muffled and drowned out by the turtleneck over his head, but his tone was unmistakably hostile. “Atem! What _the fuck_ are you doing here?”

Kaiba tensed and curled in on himself as if to shield his vulnerable, exposed torso, and it was only then that Atem noticed Kaiba’s state of undress. Once he made that realization that _oh sacred Duat, Kaiba is half-naked_ , it was all he could think about, and he stared at Kaiba with an open mouth, stunned into silence.

It was fundamentally wrong, he knew on some level, to gawk at Kaiba when he was in a clearly vulnerable position, but he also knew this was the only time he would ever have the opportunity to find out what was hidden beneath those uniform turtlenecks and sartorially-questionable trench coats. 

Atem’s mouth ran a little dry and the front of his pants abruptly felt a little tight. 

_Respond. Say something, Kaiba asked you a question_ , he reminded himself, and he racked his thoughts to remember what it was that Kaiba asked him. His mind ran blank. 

His eyes dropped to the swell of his ribcage and a visibly gnarled bump that subtly protruded from the ribs he had damaged when he fell. The sight of it made his own body ache and feel sore, and the healing contusions tainted his ivory skin, but Atem couldn’t help but inappropriately think that those very same colors, those mottled pink and purplish bruises, would look beautiful on his skin in an entirely different context. 

A very different context, in which he wouldn’t mind the sight of Kaiba’s body riddled with bruises and faint pink marks— a context in which he felt satisfied by the marks on his body, rather than the overwhelming guilt that hit him like a blow to the gut every time he looked at Kaiba’s sore torso. 

Just thinking about it made guilt and desire coil in his stomach. 

“Kaiba…” His voice was deep and coarse, a decibel lower than usual, even he could hear that, and he cleared his throat. “Do you need help?”

“I don’t need _your_ help,” Kaiba said sharply, and if his arms weren’t trapped over his head, they would certainly be tightly crossed in front of his chest. “I won’t ask again. What are you doing here?”

“I brought you flowers. And I, uh, wanted to see how you were doing,” he said distractedly, eyes glued on Kaiba’s naked torso.

He abruptly remembered the neglected bouquet hanging loosely from his limp hand, and he began to look for a place to set them down in order to free his hands. He looked at Kaiba’s bed and almost set them down on top of the neatly folded sheets, but he cast a dubious look at the sheets, which were probably some sort of expensive, high-count cotton, and wisely decided against it.

Atem set the flowers on the floor and wiped away the dew from the damp stems on his thighs before he approached Kaiba hesitantly. 

Kaiba stiffened, as if he could sense that his presence was drawing near. Up close, the situation looked even funnier than it did before, and Atem had to bite his lip to keep from laughing— he knew without a single doubt that Kaiba wouldn’t hesitate to murder him in cold blood. 

“Uh, here, let me help you.”

“I _said_ I don’t need your help.”

“From where I’m standing, it really looks like you do.”

He couldn’t see Kaiba’s face, but he could already imagine his conflicted, pained expression beneath the sweater. He made a noise of annoyance, but he eventually sighed and agreed reluctantly, as if he was the one doing the favor. “Fine. Just help pull it down. It’s stuck over the cast.”

Atem took a step closer, before he realized there was a flaw in his plan. 

“Can you...sit down? I can’t reach.”

He could feel Kaiba’s glare piercing through him _and_ the sweater. 

Atem blushed furiously and Kaiba let out a long-suffering sigh, but he wordlessly took a seat at the foot of his bed, only narrowly stepping over the flowers Atem had set on the floor. 

Nudging them out of harm’s way with the tip of his shoe, Atem quickly positioned himself in front of Kaiba and tried to figure out the best way to untangle him from the mess of sleeves and fabric. He easily slipped in between his parted legs, felt the inside of Kaiba’s thighs brushing against his hips, and became aware that this position placed him intimately close to Kaiba— perhaps the closest they’ve ever been. 

He just hoped his cheeks didn’t look as hot as they felt.

He was careful not to tug too harshly on the sweater or to jerk Kaiba around by accident, well-aware that the more serious injuries on his torso were still tender and in the process of recovery, and he worked the roll of the turtleneck into place with slow, deliberate movements. He worked in silence for a few moments, marvelling at the soft, fleecy material beneath his fingers, the likes of which he had never touched before, until Kaiba’s hair peeked out of the opening of the collar.

Atem rolled down the turtleneck over his face, allowing him enough space to readjust his arm. One beautiful cobalt-blue eye glared at him balefully, and he watched with a racing heart as Kaiba pulled the collar down to his neck, revealing his handsome, angrily flushed face. 

“Kaiba, if I may ask...how did you get stuck like this?” 

“No, you may _not_ ask.”

Kaiba adjusted the sweater over his shoulders and finally pulled it down into place. His nut-brown hair was adorably tousled and dishevelled from being yanked over his head so brusquely, and Atem had to jam his hands into his pockets, one hand tightly gripping the stolen pen until his knuckles ached, to keep himself from reaching out to sweep the hair off his brow. 

Kaiba did it himself, sweeping away the errant tendrils of wavy hair and patting them back into place. Light reflected off a silver band on his middle finger and drew attention to his elegant hands, and Atem watched his slender fingers comb through his hair until Kaiba seemed satisfied with the way it fell over his brow. 

It was only then that he turned that cool gaze on Atem and his eyes narrowed into suspicious icy blue slivers. 

“Alright, tell me the real reason you’re here,” he demanded, crossing his legs and his arms. He was closed off, on the defensive, and Atem knew he had limited time to make his apology. 

“I really did come to see how you were doing, Kaiba.” A touch of bitterness and hurt crept into his voice. “I know you don’t consider us friends, but I respect you. Of course I want to know that you’re recovering from your injuries.” 

“You could have just _called_.”

“Would you have picked up?”

“Of course not.” 

Atem cracked a rueful grin. “That’s why I came in person.”

He might have just imagined it, but he thought he saw a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. 

Kaiba’s gaze fell to his feet, and Atem wondered what he was looking at —he was wearing the same shoes as always, no reason for Kaiba to stare so pointedly— before he caught a flash of red in the corner of his vision and remembered the bouquet he had kicked out of the way.

“Oh, I brought these for you. Yugi informed me that flowers are customary recovery gifts,” he explained, fumbling over his words, picking up the bouquet and holding them out in offering. 

“Roses,” Kaiba said in an odd, flat voice, and Atem watched a strange emotion flicker over his unreadable expression. “Red roses.”

Atem looked at the fragrant red flowers and the tiny blips of sweet white petals sprinkled into the bouquet, and nodded slowly, confused. 

The stems were already beginning to dry and the petals were hanging limply from the bulb of the flower, barely holding together after their rough mistreatment, but they were still alive and beautiful. He didn’t know very much about botany, but the flowers in his hands didn’t strike him as repugnant, and he didn’t understand Kaiba’s confusing reaction. 

As if that were something new.

“Do you...not like these?” he asked awkwardly, and cradled the flowers to his chest, as if protecting them from Kaiba’s judgment. He felt uncomfortable and strange at once, and Kaiba’s cool gaze made him feel unpleasantly hot and flushed. He could feel a drop of sweat roll down the nape of his neck. “I asked for help choosing them. The young woman behind the counter said that they—”

“They’re fine,” Kaiba interrupted, and he finally looked away. 

Atem stared at his face in profile, admired the straight slope of his nose and the high points of his cheeks. A tiny tick formed in his jaw, and Kaiba’s entire body became tense. Beside his thighs, his hands curled into tight fists. 

“After all, I’m not keeping them.”

“Why not?”

Kaiba’s jaw tightened and Atem thought he could actually hear his teeth grinding. “ _Because_ , Atem, flowers aren’t going to help me recover from the injuries your brute beast of a friend caused. Flowers aren’t going to make up for the one hundred and forty eight hours of work I’ve missed this week alone, or the next four weeks I’m going to miss!” 

Kaiba’s face looked exhausted but vivid and alive with fury; blood rushed to his face, adding a touch of color to his sallow complexion, and his eyes flashed as bright and fiery as ever. “Flowers aren’t going to fix anything and they die within six days, so just take them with you _now_ and leave them in the trash on your way out.”

When he finished, even Kaiba looked a little surprised by the intensity of his outburst. A long stretch of silence followed, and Atem broke it after a slow exhale to carefully reign in his temper.

“Look, Kaiba, I came because I owe you an apology—” 

“You can leave and take your apology with you,” Kaiba interjected harshly, and he stood, towering over Atem. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. I don’t _care._ ”

“Fine,” Atem snapped, and with it, so did his temper. “I don’t know why I wasted my time coming here. I should have known you would be too stubborn to ever listen to me!”

“You’re right,” Kaiba sneered, and before Atem could look surprised, he continued spitefully, “I don’t know why you came here either. What made you think I would want to see you?”

Atem dragged his hands down his face, tugging on his eyelids, and shoved his hands into his hair. His fingernails dug painfully into his scalp.

“It’s not always about you, Kaiba!” he shouted, and to his gratification, Kaiba’s eyes widened. “ I came to see you _and_ to clear my own conscience! Have you considered that I feel responsible for your injuries? Or that I want to see you better?”

He answered his own question with a bark of resentful, sarcastic laughter. His head was beginning to pound behind his eyes. “Of course not. I’ve done what I’ve come for. I have apologized to you, and I have seen with my own two eyes that you’re doing just fine.”

Heat was beginning to build up behind his eyelids every time he blinked, and last thing he wanted was to shed tears of frustration in front of Kaiba. Atem turned on his heel sharply, the cartouche on his neck swinging in an arc with the momentum of it, and he dropped the bouquet directly into a silver bin beside the desk. The papers in the trash muffled the metallic clank of the flowers hitting the bin, and it was the only noise he could hear over the rushing in his ears and his own unsteady breathing. 

Atem could hardly bring himself to look over his shoulder at Kaiba for one last glance as he headed directly for the door. The room suddenly felt too small and cramped, more of a prison cell than a luxurious master bedroom, and he didn’t think he could stand to be another minute in the same room as Kaiba. It was more than he could handle.

“I wish you a swift recovery,” he spat, and punctuated his withdrawal with a loud slam of the heavy wooden door. There was so much anger and strength behind that slam that he felt it should have shaken the very foundations of the mansion, brought the roof crumbling down on all of them, but it was just another thing he was denied. He was alone in the hallway, ears ringing, and the mansion was intact.

His pulse was roaring in his ears and his head pounded violently, making vision swim and his temples throb with the first stirrings of a migraine. 

Atem sagged against the door weakly. His knees were knocking together, unsteady and threatening to give out, and he stood for a few minutes supporting himself against the door, desperately hoping that Kaiba wouldn’t open the door and send him tumbling backwards.

All of the wonder he had felt earlier, the reverent awe that he was standing in Kaiba’s house, disappeared. It was replaced by the acute feeling that he was an intruder in this very private face of Kaiba’s personal life. It made the bile and anger surge hot up his throat. 

It took a few minutes before his legs felt steady enough to walk and his racing pulse slowed to normal. Atem hurried down the stairs, one foot barely touching a step before skipping to the one below, and he made a beeline for the front door. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mokuba sitting comfortably in the living room, feet casually kicked up on the pristine white sofa he had marveled at earlier, and he was chatting to Isono. When Atem swiftly walked past him, he lurched upright and sat up unsteadily, his face quickly taking on an unsure expression. 

“Atem? What’s goin’ on? Is everything okay?” 

Atem didn’t stop, and Mokuba surged to his feet, darting forward to get in his way. He spread his arms wide to keep Atem from sidestepping him. “Hey, hold on! What happened?”

Atem breezed past him and a harsh laugh escaped his lips.

“You were right. Two minutes is all he gave me, and it wasn’t enough,” he said bitterly, and out of the corner of his eyes he saw Mokuba flinch at his tone. 

“Wait, Atem,” he said helplessly, and a small hand reached out to latch onto his forearm. “Don’t be angry. Seto just—”

“No, Mokuba,” Atem interrupted, and he yanked his arm out of his light hold. He knew that it wasn’t right to take out his frustrations on the younger Kaiba brother, but he couldn’t stand to be in the mansion one minute longer. “Kaiba made it very clear that my apologies mean nothing to him. He doesn’t want to see me, much less listen to me. I’m just giving him what he wants.”

Mokuba’s expression crumpled, and Atem tried to soften the anger in his voice. He pinched the bridge of his nose, willed himself to remain calm for another two minutes. “He needs space and time, and I’m giving them to him, Mokuba. I’m leaving now.”

The younger Kaiba looked unsure, but nodded hesitantly and dropped his hand. “Okay.” 

He turned his body toward the staircase, and the doubt on his face hardened into determination. 

“I’m gonna go talk to him. I’ll see ya later, Atem. Try not to be too mad at Seto,” he pleaded, and watched Atem nod without a word. 

He waited until Atem left before turning and darting up the stairs. 

Seto’s door was closed, and while Mokuba didn’t hesitate to open it, he turned the knob slowly, careful not to make too much noise that might give him away. He peered inside the room, and in the split second before Kaiba became aware that he had company, he saw his brother sitting at the edge of his bed, bent in on himself and cupping his face in his hands. 

Kaiba looked up with a wary expression and quickly straightened out, never one to be caught vulnerable. The alarm on his face melted away into recognition and ease when he identified his visitor. 

“Mokuba,” he said in a strangely soft voice. He touched his fingers to his own throat, surprised by the sound of his own voice, and cleared his throat. “Hey, kiddo. What do you want?”

“Nothing,” Mokuba said with a little shrug, and nudged the door shut with the tip of his shoe. He plopped down right beside Kaiba and kicked his feet out, and he curiously examined Seto’s face. Seto was staring directly ahead, but his eyes were glazed over and distant, as if he was staring at something much further away than the painting on the wall. 

Mokuba stared at the fading bruise on Seto’s jaw and sighed. 

“Just wanted to bug you and, well...I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be alright?” Seto asked, and his voice was defensive. “Of course I’m okay. I should be worrying about you, not the other way around. ”

He was clearly lying. His voice was tight and defensive, and his mouth was screwed into such a tight smile that it nearly resembled a grimace. Mokuba knew better than to push his questions when Seto’s voice sounded like _that_. 

He shrugged and leaned back on his palms, taking on a casual tone, “I dunno. The whole broken ribs and wrist thing is kinda worrisome though.” 

Kaiba’s shoulders lowered, and he released a sigh that seemed to come from deep within his core. “I’m fine, Mokuba.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Just a little pain. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“But...you know you can count on me, right?”

They sat in silence together, neither brother moving, beside the little scissoring kicks of Mokuba swinging his legs back and forth. 

He quickly became bored with the silence and his gaze wandered, scanning the room before landing on the bouquet that peeked out of the trash can. He didn’t know who threw it away, whether it was Atem or Kaiba, but he hopped off the edge of the bed and strutted across the room to rummage through the trash and pull them out. 

Mokuba held them up and brought them to his face, just under his nose and made a big show of inhaling their scent, even though it made him want to sneeze. He held the flowers to his chest like a pageant queen. 

“Hey, what are these doing in the trash?” he chirped, feigning total innocence. “Did Atem give them to you?”

Kaiba quickly looked away. His voice became soft and distant, and he appeared lost in thought again. “Yes.”

“They’re so pretty, Seto! And look, they’re not dead yet! We should put these in water!”

“Leave them in the trash.”

“But you could put them in a vase on your desk,” Mokuba insisted, slipping a hint of a whine into his voice. “They were a present, Seto! You can’t throw ‘em away!”

He waited a second, ten seconds, a minute, and when Kaiba didn’t respond, he carried the bouquet to the door victoriously. “I’ll make Isono find a vase. ISONO!”

It took a while for Isono to locate a vase. There was only one crystal vase in the entire mansion, stored in the very back of a cabinet full of unused glassware, and it was covered in a thick layer of dust from the disuse.

Mokuba hadn’t realized until that moment that there were never any fresh flowers in any of the rooms, and he wasn’t sure why, but the sudden awareness of that knowledge felt terribly sad.

* * *

Mokuba propped his elbows on the desk, chin cupped in his palms, and watched a drop of water roll down the belly of the vase. 

“That’s going to leave a ring,” Kaiba warned, and he looked just as bored as Mokuba felt. He had to be, if he was paying attention to something as small as the condensation on a vase. “You should have left those in the trash.”

Mokuba looked at the roses and shrugged. A few petals were missing and the stems were beginning to brown, but the red bulbs were intact and they looked like they might survive the week. 

“They look nice,” he pointed out, and picked out the saddest-looking flower to throw away discreetly. “We should buy more flowers. Isono can take care of ‘em. Though I guess we already have the garden… What do you think, Seto?”

Kaiba shrugged and didn’t respond. His mood had long since dropped, had quickly become dark and broody, and he looked tense enough to burst out of his own skin. 

Mokuba wondered if it had something to do with the flowers. Just when he was going to ask, Seto stood abruptly and headed directly for the door, and Mokuba jerked up too, reaching a hand out instinctively. 

“Hey, where are you going?” he blurted out nervously, and Kaiba’s back stiffened. 

“I left something in the office,” he said curtly, and there was something dangerous in his tone that warned Mokuba not to challenge him. “I’ll be back later.”

“But…”

Mokuba watched helplessly as Kaiba shrugged on his jacket and left without another word, coattails disappearing into the hallway after him. 

Mokuba paced for a moment, dragging his feet on the carpet, and he threw himself back onto the bed with a noise of frustration, sulky and annoyed by Seto’s irrational mood swings, and shouted “HEY!” when he felt something hard poke uncomfortably into the center of his back. 

He jerked upright, rubbing the sore spot with a pained grimace, and looked over his shoulder at the offending item. 

It was Seto’s cellphone, hidden in the folds of the bedsheets, and just as quickly as he spotted the item, a treacherous, brilliant idea struck him. 

Mokuba looked at the door fearfully, afraid and half-expecting that the very _thought_ of what he was going to do would summon Seto to the doorway like a yokai. When the door remained closed, he snatched up the cellphone and unlocked it with ease, accessing the apps that he needed.

Quickly, in case Seto realized he was missing his cellphone and returned for it, he snapped a picture of the vase on his brother’s desk and attached the image into a new text message. He typed Atem’s name into the recipient box—

—and frowned when the contact came up blank. 

Kaiba had exactly three contacts in his cellphone and not a single one of them was Atem. It was inconvenient, an unexpected complication in an already-complicated scheme, and Mokuba realized with a grunt of annoyance that the pieces of his plan weren’t going to fall into place as easily as he thought they would. 

It was a race against the clock to send his sneaky text message before Seto came back. Mokuba worked quickly, whipping out his own cellphone and manually entering in Atem’s number. He double-checked that the photo looked clear before hitting send. 

_Thank you_ , he texted after a split second-thought, and wrote the same boring, formal way that Seto texted. After a moment passed without response, he added _–Seto Kaiba_ for good measure, and anxiously waited for a reply so that he could erase the entire conversation from Seto’s phone and pretend that the whole thing never happened. 

Not long after, the phone vibrated in his lap, and Mokuba unlocked it hastily. 

_You’re welcome._

It was a short, almost painfully polite response, but Mokuba was relieved that Atem didn’t ask why Seto had his number— that was a conversation he did not want to have, not when he was certain that Seto was going to barge into his bedroom at any second. 

Not a single step squeaked in the mansion, and the doors were so thick and heavy that voices and noises from the hallway didn’t leak into any of the bedrooms. Kaiba had the advantage of surprise, but Mokuba was quick and meticulous, and he had just finished deleting the texts from Seto’s phone when the door swung open without warning. 

Mokuba clicked the phone shut and quickly shoved it under his thigh, felt the screen burn a guilty hole into the underside of his leg, but he looked at Kaiba with an innocent expression. His expression radiated innocence and his hands were steady, but his pulse was racing with the excitement of doing something wrong.

Seto would be so pissed if he knew. 

Mokuba realized he was sitting too still. That was suspicious, given his remarkable inability to sit in place. He intentionally kicked his legs out and swung them over the edge of the bed. 

“Hey big bro! Back so soon? That was only ten minutes!”

Kaiba looked at him suspiciously, but the room was intact and nothing was visibly disturbed or out of sight. He sighed and approached the bed, eyes skimming the loosely-tucked sheets. 

“I forgot my phone.”

“That’s not like you. You sure you’re alright?” Mokuba teased, and much to his pleasure, Kaiba cracked a wry smile. 

“Maybe it’s the concussion. Where is it?”

Mokuba produced the phone from beneath a fold in the blanket and handed it over wordlessly. Seto paused for a moment, phone in hand, and he tousled Mokuba’s hair, palm resting fondly on his head for a moment. 

“I’ll be back later. Don’t wait up.”

Mokuba watched his retreating figure, waited until he thought he heard his footsteps disappearing down the hallway, and whipped out his own phone again. He felt nervous and excited, both emotions mixing in his stomach like a strange tummy ache, and he checked his messages. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, maybe an excited text from Atem because Seto had texted him, but he was disappointed to see that his notifications were blank.

His lips pursed into a pout. Atem was so ungrateful. 

He quickly opened a new message and selected his name from a long list of contacts. 

**_goknba_** : hey temu!!

 ** _goknba_** : come over next sat?

 ** _pharaoh_** : I don’t think your brother would appreciate that.

Mokuba looked down at his phone with a frown. He had just fixed all the problems between them!

“Liar,” he growled, and his fingers flew across the screen. 

**_goknba_** : seto wont mind! come over pls i have the new kart racing game! prelease

 ** _goknba_** : pre release*

 ** _goknba_** : cmon you owe me, you ignored me today :(

 ** _goknba_** : plus seto can't play with me because of his wrist sooooooo...you owe me double :P

It took a while for Atem to respond, but Mokuba stared at his phone intently, watching the three small dots moving at the bottom of the screen.

 ** _pharaoh_** : Alright. I’ll see you Saturday.

 ** _goknba_** : k, see u then! and bring more flowers k? seto really loved them! 

**_pharaoh_** : I will.

* * *

**[Bonus scene]**

A small bell chimed sweetly over Atem’s head, startling him into knocking his elbow against the door with an embarrassingly loud clunk at the same time that he was hit in the face by the heady, fragrant perfume of various assorted flowers.

“Good morning! Welcome to Domino Flowers,” a feminine voice called from somewhere deep within a corner of the room, encouraging him to step further inside the shop. “Please come inside!”

Despite his embarrassing entrance, Atem stepped over a decorative welcome mat and approached the center of the floor, where he looked to his right and saw a petite young woman standing behind the counter, dressed in a frilly white apron with the store’s name emblazoned on the front pocket. 

“Good morning!” she repeated good-naturedly, and beamed at him. Her voice seemed a little too bright and cheerful for such an early hour in the morning, but the dimpled smile on her face was sincere. Atem found himself smiling back tentatively. 

“Hello,” he said, raising a palm up and uncurling his fingers in a half-hearted wave. He felt shy when she beamed at him, and tried not to make his awkwardness too apparent. 

“How can I help you?” 

She leaned onto the counter eagerly, the tips of the long, sleek hair spilling over her shoulders brushing over the glass top. A tiny gleam of gold from a delicate necklace chain caught the ceiling light and flashed prettily against her slender neck, and Atem found his gaze momentarily drawn to the demure flash of cleavage that peeked out of the sweetheart neckline of her blouse. 

He immediately averted his gaze, felt the warmth rise to his face, and focused on her mouth as she asked a question. His mind ran a blank, and he momentarily panicked when he couldn’t remember why the hell he had set foot in this store at such an ungodly hour of the morning. 

“Uh..”

He forgot what he was doing there.

“Are you looking for a floral arrangement for someone?” the young woman prompted after his extended silence, and when Atem’s face colored, she winked at him conspiratorially. “That’s what most people come here for! What can I help you look for?”

Atem looked around the shop as if for the first time, taking in the sight of the quaint decorations and the broad survey of flowers hanging from walls, shelves, windows, and every possible nook and cranny from which they could be potted and hung. Then he remembered.

He was in a flower shop. He was in a flower shop looking for flowers for Seto Kaiba. He was in a flower shop looking for flowers for Seto Kaiba, whom he had hurt and wanted to apologize to with what was, according to Yugi, a customary display of condolences. Flowers. 

“Uh, I was told that flowers are...customary gifts,” he explained weakly. His tongue felt out of place in his mouth and he couldn’t bring himself to speak his thoughts coherently. “I need to buy flowers for someone.”

Her blue eyes sparkled and she leaned in on her elbows, whispering conspiratorially, “Are the flowers for someone _special_?”

Atem bit his lip. Someone special. _Seto Kaiba._

His feelings toward Kaiba had become complicated not too long ago, when he began to wonder whether the magnetic draw he felt toward Seto could be more than just their competitive, equally-matched rivalry. Whether behind each other’s backs or at each other’s throats, they never failed to gravitate back toward one another, drawn as if by some invisible force. It would be nothing less than a total lie to deny that Kaiba has a significant meaning in his life, even _without_ the addition of Atem’s developing feelings. 

“Yes,” he admitted, and bit the inside of his cheek until it stung. Atem hesitated to finish the thought out loud, but her gentle smile encouraged him and quelled his discomfort. “Yes, I’m looking for flowers…flowers for someone special.”

“Oh!”

The girl behind the counter breathed out a soft, dreamy sigh, and her cheeks tinged a very pretty shade of pink. She was very beautiful, Atem realized belatedly, and the thought that she might be Tristan’s type briefly crossed his mind. 

“How romantic,” she swooned, and curled a strand of silky hair around her slim finger. “I wish someone would do something like that for me!”

Atem blinked, understood what she was misunderstanding, and made a frantic gesture of disagreement with his hands. 

“No, no- it’s not like that! I hurt this person,” he blurted out, and felt the pang of guilt that haunted him every time he was reminded of how he didn’t put a stop to the situation before it escalated out of control. “It was never my intention, but I hurt this person and I want to apologize. I was told that flowers often help with apologies.”

She blinked, clearly surprised, but no less enthused. 

“Ah, I understand! You want to win this special person back?” 

Given his relationship with Kaiba, the phrase seemed entirely appropriate. 

Atem breathed out a laugh, a low, warm chuckle, and nodded. He didn’t know how she could have possibly managed to so accurately guess the circumstances between himself and Kaiba, but he appreciated her sincerity, and there was no way to deny the truth of what she was suggesting. Yes, he wanted to win Kaiba back— his rival, his opponent, his partner.

It was Kaiba’s demand that Atem defeat him. If defeating him was what it took to return the balance and spark to their rivalry, it was what Atem would provide.

“Yes, I want to win my former partner back. Although I must admit, I don’t understand how flowers could help at all.” 

Her clear blue eyes —they were wrong shade, not the same as Kaiba’s, _they were never the same shade as Kaiba’s_ — flashed with determination. Her fingers, delicate and covered in various slender gold rings, curled into a fist, which she pumped excitedly into the air. 

“I will help you! Flowers have the power to convey plenty of emotions! You’re sorry for hurting your partner and you want to express that you’re sorry and still care and respect them, right?” 

Atem nodded mutely and watched her fingers flip through a little catalog of special flower arrangements with surprising speed. She hardly even seemed to be reading or looking at the pages, until she found the one she was looking for and slammed the book open with a sense of finality. She triumphantly pointed a manicured finger at an arrangement at the top left of the page. 

“This one! This is our most popular flower arrangement of all! It’ll show that you’re sorry _and_ that you care!”

The flowers in the photo looked expensive and elegant, if not slightly uniform and unimaginative in comparison to the other arrangements pictured on the page. Clusters of dainty white baby’s breath were interspersed among a dozen bold red roses, gathered into a bouquet with a big white and silver-lined bow. 

Atem’s gaze dropped to a photo of a flower arrangement on the opposite page. Cream-colored, bell-shaped calla lilies and delicate bundles of baby blue hydrangeas and forget-me-nots were gathered into a tall glass vase, around which was tied a cobalt ribbon. The colors reminded him of Kaiba, and it appealed to his eye far more than the other arrangement. 

Atem hesitated for a moment before pointing to the picture. 

“What about these?” he inquired, and flinched when she shook her head violently.

“Lilies and forget-me-nots? More like forget-me- _please_! They’re not nearly special enough!” she cried, dismayed, and passionately held a hand to her chest. “The roses and baby’s breath are totally classic. There’s honestly no better choice!”

Atem looked at the picture doubtfully, but shied away from any more confrontation, and he nodded slowly, struggling to convince himself that he liked the roses. 

Maybe Kaiba would like them. 

“Alright. I’ll take those.”

She beamed at him. “Excellent choice. Your feelings will be perfectly clear with these! So, will it be cash or card?”

Atem smiled and slid a credit card, the concept of which still evaded him, over the counter. “Excellent. Card, thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [im goknba?](https://i.redd.it/1f3yn4w8ryzy.png)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡


	3. Chapter 3

“I don’t see why you’re botherin’ visiting that creep,” Joey declared, slamming an open-faced palm on the table and rattling his empty milkshake glasses. “You already tried to apologize to him once and he blew ya off, so why don’t you just move on like I did?” 

Joey spotted Yugi’s milkshake sitting defenseless on the table and lunged for it, taking a sip while Yugi chewed on a french fry. He sucked at the straw forcefully, hollowing his cheeks and getting a good mouthful, before the taste hit his tongue and he wrinkled his nose, making a grand show of forcing himself to swallow reluctantly.

“Ugh, pistachio! I forgot you mixed that in with the strawberry.” 

“Nobody told you to drink my milkshake,” Yugi said calmly, reclaiming his drink with a happy slurp. “I like it.” 

“ _Anyways_ , like I was sayin’, if Kaiba wants to keep being a jerk to ya just ‘cause he couldn’t stay on his own two feet, it’s not your fault. Just give him the finger and move on!” 

“It’s not quite that easy, Joey.”

Atem sighed and pushed his straw with the tip of his finger, swirling the foamy dregs of the milkshake in his cup. Thinking about Seto made his stomach contort painfully, and for one horrifying second, he feared that the vanilla malt would make a second appearance at the table. 

Joey had no way of knowing that he felt compelled by more than just guilt to see Kaiba. He _wanted_ to see him, wanted to comfort him, touch him, _kiss_ him…

He planted his face into his hands and groaned pitifully. 

Yugi picked up on his distress and nudged Joey’s foot under the table, hard. Joey jerked and swallowed half a stolen french fry without chewing, and turned to Yugi incredulously. 

“Hey, wha—”

“I think you’re doing the right thing, Temu,” Yugi said calmly, effectively ignoring Joey, but quieting his indignant squawks by placing a hand on his knee and tracing circles into the denim with his thumb. “Kaiba might still be angry, but....well, it’s Kaiba. I hate to admit it, but I’d be a little more surprised if he wasn’t.”

Atem smiled weakly. Beneath the table, his foot bounced anxiously. “Thank you, Yugi.”

Joey looked at him curiously. “So, you goin’ over tomorrow or nah?”

“Yes. I think I am.”

* * *

“Hey, no fair! How’d you get so good at this game anyway? I thought this was your first time playing it!” 

Mokuba pouted at him and stuck out his tongue playfully. The kid was laying upside down on one of the many large beanbag chairs in the entertainment room. 

Atem watched, amused, as the hair fell away from his face and revealed his large gray eyes, now crossed as Mokuba made another face at him. 

“It _is_ my first time playing. The concept just isn’t that difficult and your tactics can use...well, a bit of refinement.” 

“Huh?”

“Well, it’s not that your strategies are bad, it’s just...let me help you.”

Mokuba considered it a moment, before bobbing his head. He gave a goofy grin, broad and toothy and lopsided, and Atem was immediately endeared to the dimple in his left cheek— did Kaiba have one too? 

Atem resolved to find out. 

The **GAME OVER, PLAYER 2 WINS** message flashed on the screen, a glowing white text box that blinked across a black background. Mokuba pursed his lips, staring at the absurdly large television screen with a displeased, pouty expression, and rolled upright. The curtain of his hair following him, and tangling in front of his face. He combed through it with his fingers, pushing it back into a messy little knot-bun to keep the flyaway strands from hanging over his eyes, and cocked his head to the side. 

“Wanna take a break? I dunno about you, but I could use a snack.”

Atem’s stomach rumbled, and it was an embarrassing reminder that he hadn’t eaten since early that morning— it was now late afternoon, and he had passed almost the entire day sprawled out in front of the enormous flat screen television in one of Kaiba’s many entertainment rooms. 

Mokuba’s teeth flashed when he grinned savagely. “I’ll take that as a yes. C’mon, you can coach me in the kitchen. Then I can kick your royal butt.”

Atem raised an eyebrow.

“You are very welcome to try.”

Hiding a smile, he set the game controller down on the floor beside him. His fingers brushed against the soft yellow petals of the daffodils he brought this time, and he remembered with an unpleasant sensation in his stomach —could it be the hunger?— that Kaiba hadn’t been around that morning to receive him— or to throw him out from the mansion, for that matter. 

He had thus far managed to avoid asking about Seto’s disappearance, well aware that Mokuba was a Kaiba— friendly enough, but indubitably loyal to his brother and potentially just as deceitful. 

He tried to play it cool. 

“Where is your brother, Mokuba?” 

Too straightforward and painfully transparent. 

Mokuba’s eyebrows arched high into his forehead and he clicked his tongue, amused. “Wow, you must suck at poker. I bet my big bro could beat you at that too…”

He shrugged and carelessly tossed his controller aside. Atem winced at the sound of the hardware hitting the floor with a loud thump and bouncing a few feet away. 

“I dunno. He said he had to run some errands. He might have said what it was, but I was kinda still asleep, so....I didn’t hear.”

“I see.”

Disappointed, Atem gently set the game controller on the floor, careful not to lose it in between the giant beanbags. His bare feet touched the carpet again and he stood with a quiet grunt, following Mokuba out of the entertainment room. 

They had barely reached the foot of the staircase when the front door opened and Kaiba stepped inside. There was a dark, broody expression on his face, but when he spotted Mokuba standing in front of him, it softened— until he spotted Atem a few inches beside him. Confusion, recognition, and contempt flickered over his features, in precisely that order, and Atem felt the unease course through him the longer that they stood in awkwardly silent confrontation. 

Kaiba carded his fingers through his hair, patting it down without thinking, and frowned.

“What are you doing here...again?”

Atem shuffled his feet and found that he couldn’t meet Kaiba’s gaze. The memories of the last time he had seen Kaiba were still fresh in his mind, and his harsh words echoed in his thoughts and stung at his pride. Even worse, he got the sinking feeling that Mokuba had _lied_ about his invitation. Kaiba had had no idea he was coming over...

"What am I doing here? I was _invited—_ ”

Mokuba tensed beside him. In the blink of an eye, he plastered on a wide, toothy grin and looked sheepish, his nose wrinkling with feigned remorse. 

“Sorry Seto! I invited ‘Temu over and forgot to ask you!”

Atem’s eye twitched and he tried not to look scandalized or betrayed, but he felt a surge of annoyance toward the younger Kaiba. He was proving to be just as manipulative as Seto himself, and he wasn’t sure what he was being dragged into, but he didn’t appreciate it. 

He felt the tick in his jaw and forced himself to unlock his jaw before he ground his teeth right out of his mouth. It was quickly replaced by a fake, awkward smile.

Kaiba’s alert blue eyes flickered between the two, gazing at them with equal distrust for a long minute, until he finally blew out an exhale from his nose and nodded. Atem suddenly noticed that he looked more exhausted and frustrated than usual. The shadows under his eyes were deep and pronounced, and there was a noticeable twitch in his left lid that suggested he was fighting to keep his eyes open.

Atem wondered how long it had been since Seto had slept properly. 

“I’ll be in my study,” Kaiba muttered, and without waiting for a response, he stalked up the stairs, back held stiffly upright. 

Atem watched his coattails disappear out of his line of vision, before wheeling around to face Mokuba.

“You said Se- Kaiba knew I was coming over!” he hissed, latching onto Mokuba’s arm and squeezing until the boy winced— then he loosened his grip guiltily. 

Mokuba rubbed at his sore arm with a scowl. “Yeah, well, he didn’t. Sue me.”

 _I would if I could_ , he thought darkly, before turning his mind elsewhere. He pictured the flowers upstairs, and his stomach turned.

Kaiba hadn’t been very pleased the last time he brought flowers. He desperately wondered if he could throw them out of a window or into the trash without either of the brothers noticing. 

“Don’t worry about Seto. He’s not really mad,” Mokuba said with a wave of his hand. He turned on heel, walking in what Atem assumed was the direction of the kitchen, the _follow me_ implicit. 

Atem followed him cautiously, half-expecting Kaiba to walk out from any one corner of the enormous mansion and hiss at him to leave, but he didn’t reappear; instead, he turned the corner to find a beautiful kitchen, wide and spacious. 

Lights hung elegantly from the high ceiling, casting a warm yellow glow over the sleek black cabinets, and bouncing light prettily off the glass panes and reflective surfaces. A closer look at the countertop revealed pretty flecks of shiny silver crystals in the marble facade. It was polished perfectly, so glossy and clean that Atem could see the reflection of his face in the silvery marble. 

The only sign of use in the immaculate kitchen was the coffee machine, tucked into a cozy alcove in the corner, which still held an empty coffee pod, clearly used that morning— based on Seto’s haggard appearance earlier, Atem wouldn’t be surprised if that was the only fuel keeping him running. 

“So, I only have one chocolate chip granola bar left...you want oatmeal raisin? I’ve got a bunch of those.”

Mokuba’s voice drawled out from the corner of the room. Atem looked over his shoulder to spot him standing atop a bar stool, buried shoulders-deep inside the pantry to rummage for the items in the back, likely sugary treats he hid from his older brother. 

“I also have a pudding cup. But Seto has some boring adult food, if you want some of that. He’s never home and it goes bad half the time, so he probably wouldn’t notice if you ate it.”

Mokuba threw the oatmeal-raisin bar back into the pantry and jumped off the barstool. 

“C’mon. One more time, I bet I can beat ya!”

* * *

He couldn’t.

Atem humored him with a second final round, and when Mokuba lost that too, he ducked out of the room with a vague excuse, knowing damn well that he didn’t have to help out at the game shop; new card pack shipments didn’t arrive on weekends, they arrived on Tuesdays. 

In spite of his better judgment and the residual bitterness over how he had been treated the last time, Atem retraced his steps from before and stood in front of the door to Kaiba’s office. He stared at the door, the wood pattern blurring and becoming one dark, inky blur, before he tentatively rapped on the door with his knuckles. 

He vividly remembered entering the room without Kaiba’s permission or knowledge the week before. The recollection brought a rush of color to his cheeks and he waited, anticipation and nervousness building in his gut, until he finally heard the soft rumble of Kaiba’s drawling voice tell him, 

“Come in.”

Stepping inside timidly, Atem looked over the room as if he had never seen it before, scanning every object and memorizing its location before his gaze landed on Kaiba. 

The agitation was scrawled clearly across his face, and Atem froze in place with a jolt of panic, caught in mid-step, wondering bitterly if his presence was really so despicable, until he realized that Kaiba wasn’t looking at him, was staring moodily at his desk with his arms crossed tightly around his chest. 

When Atem tentatively stepped forward, pushing past his own trepidation, he only had to take one look at his desk to realize what was wrong.

A cartridge of ink had spilled over his papers and was beginning to seep into the beautifully polished dark oak of his desk. The offending fountain pen was still tightly gripped in Seto’s immobile hand— out of sheer stubbornness, because Kaiba knew just as well as Atem and everyone else that the cast temporarily inhibited his motor skills. 

Kaiba looked up sharply, but there was something almost defeated and resigned in the way he simply asked, “What?” without snapping or barking something rude at him. 

Atem approached him quietly, and without prompting, he rectified the leaking cartridge, staining his fingers with black inky fluid that he calmly wiped away with a tissue from Kaiba’s desk. 

“Is there anything I can do for you?” 

He was careful to avoid saying _help,_ knowing that Kaiba’s pride was damning and that it would be a surefire way to get kicked out of the office before he could even finish asking, but Kaiba bristled and looked at him irritably anyway. 

“No. Why would I need _your_ —”

“It was just a question, Kaiba. I didn’t mean any harm by it,” Atem growled, cutting him off rudely, and for once, Kaiba fell silent. 

Kaiba stared at him quietly. His hair fell over his high brow bone, casting dark shadows just beneath his eyes, not revealing anything, and Atem felt increasingly tense and captive under that unfathomable gaze, until he finally blinked and looked down at his hands. 

Seto swept a hand through his hair self-consciously, making it stick up at the ends, and Atem realized belatedly that there were colorful scribbles on his cast— Mokuba’s work? he wondered with a dizzying rush. 

He craned his head forward to get a better glance, but Kaiba moved, shifting papers on his desk, replacing the stapler, clearing imaginary clutter, and he couldn’t get a clear view of his cast. 

“What’s with the flowers?”

“Huh?”

Confused and distracted, Atem stared at him. Kaiba’s mouth twitched. 

“You brought me flowers again. Different this time. Why?” he specified, beginning to sound testy again.

“How did you kn—”

“The cleaning staff found them in the entertainment room. That doesn’t answer my question.”

Atem shrugged. “It seemed like you didn’t like them the last time. I tried again. I thought the yellow was quite nice.”

Something in Kaiba’s hard face softened and gave away, and his eyes widened just a fraction in surprise. He seemed to mull over the response for a minute, empty fountain pen twiddling furiously between his elegant, ink-smudged fingers, until he sighed and tipped his chin in the direction of the stapler on his desk. 

“Load it. There are staples in the white box next to it. I need you to staple these sector reports—” He pushed a thick manila folder across the desk. “—into piles of three.”

Kaiba looked up, and Atem’s eyes were so wide and vulnerable that he looked stunningly similar to Yugi for just one moment. It was somehow an expression he had never made before, nor one that Kaiba had ever caught him making across a duel arena. 

It was...cute.

Annoyed, he nudged the file again, and all but thrust it into Atem’s hands. “Take this!”

Atem gave him an exasperated roll of his eyes, but took the file and began to work.

Once he got the hang of what he was doing, the task quickly became a routine— lick his finger, draw the papers apart and into neat little stacks, tap the edges against the desk to make sure they were level, clamp them together with the stapler. It became mindless work and he did it without thinking, easily moving mechanically to the sound of Seto’s fingers tapping away at the keys of his computer, even as his thoughts began to wander. 

He looked up, curious about the ruthless _clackclackclack_ of the keys, and saw Kaiba’s fingers flying in a blur across his keyboard. 

Mesmerized, he watched as Kaiba typed effortlessly, clear blue eyes never once moving from whatever document he was looking at on the screen.

Atem wanted to admire his handsome face, illuminated by the blue-white light of the computer screen, a while longer, but the absent noise of the stapler made Kaiba’s dark gaze flick over toward him curiously. He looked startled to see Atem staring at him, before his expression became guarded and suspicious. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” 

“Do you need more staples already?”

“No…”

“Then get back to work.”

Atem resumed working with a frown, but every time he stole a furtive glance at Kaiba, it softened until he was almost smiling. 

The rhythm of his work suddenly faltered when his fingers slipped and he clipped the edge of his nail with the stapler. 

“AGH!” he cried out, holding his finger instinctively, even though his rational mind registered that he was doing more harm than good— he was just pressing the staple in deeper into his skin.

Atem sucked in a sharp breath through his tightly clenched teeth, thinking in a language that was almost as intimately familiar to him as it was ancient, giving thanks to whatever force was looking out for him that the staple had not pierced his nail and entered the terrifyingly tender flesh beneath his nail bed. 

Kaiba looked up and once he processed what happened, he frowned and snatched the stapler away, even though the harm had already been done. 

“Idiot,” he scolded, muttering something that sounded a lot like _fucking ancient spirits_ under his breath, and he reached for Atem’s hand. 

Atem tried to jerk away by instinct, but a dangerous flash of Kaiba’s eyes and an annoyed command to _stay still_ made him resign himself to Kaiba’s examination. His fingers twitched when they came into contact with Kaiba’s cool fingertips but he didn’t make a sound, simply watched as Kaiba turned his hand around and inspected the injury with a critical eye. 

The sight of Kaiba’s face so close to his own made him speechless. Atem desperately hoped Kaiba didn’t hear his gasp of surprise, or if he did, mistook it for one of pain. 

“It’s not in too deep,” he finally said.

 _But I am,_ Atem thought disjointedly.

Seto released his fingers and opened a drawer in his desk, sifting through what sounded like endless piles of paper, before his hands reappeared with a small first aid kit. Atem watched him retrieve an alcohol pad and bandaid, and bit his lip.

“You can just leave it in,” he protested. Kaiba gave him a dry, unimpressed look and held out his hand expectantly.

Reluctantly, Atem put his hand into Kaiba’s and squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel the pressure of his fingertips pinching the staple by the base, and he inhaled sharply, bracing himself for the inevitable pain, but before he could even exhale, Kaiba squeezed his hand comfortingly, startling him. 

His palm was warm and cool, fingers delicately fitting between his own. Atem gasped again, and this time there was no way that Kaiba could not have heard, but before he could bring it up, he let go of his hand. 

Atem opened his eyes, blinking to clear his blurry vision, before he frowned at Kaiba. “You didn’t take it out?”

“See for yourself.”

His finger was pink and tender, but the small silver staple gleamed innocently on Kaiba’s desk. 

Kaiba expertly ripped open the seal of the alcohol pad with his teeth, before dabbing the cold, wet towelette on Atem’s injury and wrapping it around his finger. The alcohol stung at the puncture wound, but Atem’s astonishment distracted him from it.

His mouth closed and opened, much to Kaiba’s clear amusement, and he struggled to find the right words. 

“I..I didn’t even feel it.”

Kaiba shrugged. “I pulled out the staple when I squeezed your hand. You were so distracted that you didn’t feel it coming out.” 

“Oh!”

The knowledge didn’t make him feel better. If anything, he felt disappointed. 

A tiny hint of a smile appeared on Kaiba’s mouth. Atem pretended he didn’t notice that Kaiba did in fact have a dimple.

“Mokuba used to accidentally staple his fingers when he tried to help me. My mistake was thinking that you were smarter than a six year old.”

“ _Kaiba!_ ”

It was one of Kaiba’s gentler insults, and after a weak glare, Atem yielded with a grin. 

He inspected his finger, and though he didn’t dare check, he suspected that Kaiba was looking at him too.

The puncture was tiny, pink, and unassuming, and he didn’t think it needed to be wrapped, but when Kaiba held up a bandaid —baby blue, covered in tiny toon dragons, _he couldn’t believe he was seeing this_ — he stretched out his hand again.

Kaiba reached for him without saying a word, before peeling the bandaid with nearly surgical precision. He wrapped it around Atem’s finger with such care that Atem damn near expected him to kiss his covered wound.

There was a beat of quiet intimacy between them while Kaiba taped his finger. Atem studied his handsome features, the straight line of his nose and those tired, tired blue eyes, when the thought to apologize struck him again. 

Kaiba hadn’t accepted his apology the last time. Atem opened his mouth, but he was interrupted before he could get even a single word out. 

“Don’t,” Kaiba said in a hard voice, and those icy eyes flicked up to Atem. 

He could see the ring of crystalline blue circling deep black pupils, the thin, delicate eyelashes that surrounded them, and the heavy shadows beneath his eyes. His gaze was guarded, wary— he had read Atem’s intentions, and he didn’t want to hear another attempt at an apology.

He was so handsome, Atem forgot all about his remorse. He wanted to reach out to cup Kaiba’s face in his hands and kiss him. 

But Kaiba would never forgive him for that. 

Atem stared at him sadly, and Kaiba looked up, meeting his eyes. They widened with surprise, and a look of uncertainty and doubt crossed over his face, but he didn’t say a word.

Then, the absurdity of the situation struck him, and Kaiba stifled a snort. 

He remembered Atem’s horrified expression, the awkward way he held out his finger, a single silver staple sticking out haphazardly from the side of his fingernail, strange and entirely out of place, and the memory of it made Kaiba raise a hand to his face in a hasty attempt to conceal the smile that was beginning to draw at the corners of his mouth.

Without thinking, he raised his right hand to his face—

—and whacked himself in the mouth with the hard white plaster of his cast. His lip burst and began to sting, a tiny drop of blood quickly welling on his swelling lip, but he paused to recognize what he had done, and then he couldn’t help it— he snickered out loud, once, before it devolved into a full burst of laughter that made Atem stare at him in shock. 

It was the first time he had ever heard Kaiba laugh genuinely, not at the expense of others, namely Joey, or sarcastically— and he joined him.

The harder Kaiba tried to suppress his laughter, the harder it became, until it died down and he leaned in to cup his face in his hands, rubbing his hot cheek into his palm, embarrassed by the unexpected fit of laughter, until Atem’s laughter softened, and he made a noise of contentment, a low hum that vibrated deep in his throat, and suddenly Kaiba’s cheeks burned hot for another reason entirely. 

It was an innocent noise, but Kaiba’s thoughts began to race, and he suddenly found himself picturing it in an entirely different context— namely Atem making that noise while squirming beneath him, overwhelmed and hot and breathless with exertion. He could already _taste_ the salty tang of sweat casting a pretty sheen over his skin, could feel Atem’s eyes, narrowed and heavily lidded with lust, peering up at him while he— 

Atem stared at him with those stupid doe eyes, so bright and brilliantly colored, shiny with the tears from his laughter. 

Kaiba realized with a horrifying jolt that he wanted to kiss Atem. 

His gaze darted down to those soft lips, pillowy and bitten pink, and he wanted to feel them move against his own, wanted to taste them and sink his teeth into them until they were plump enough to burst. 

The intrusive thought made the flush run deep and scarlet right down to where the line of his shirt collar touched the base of his throat. He shifted uncomfortably and watched Atem’s eyes crinkle and his smile soften as the excitement and exhilarating haze of pain-fueled adrenaline winded down. 

“It’s getting late,” he finally choked out, realizing it had been a while since anyone had spoken, and his voice was deep, a register lower than usual. 

Atem’s eyes widened, and an unidentifiable emotion flickered in their depths. He hesitated, appeared to be fighting with himself, before he started to lean in— 

Kaiba’s voice became hasty, panicked, and he jerked back, sputtering, “Unless you’re planning on staying over for dinner, you need to leave.”

“Right!” 

Atem straightened up and stood abruptly, jamming his hands into his pockets. 

“Thank you, Kaiba, for—”

“Don’t apologize, and don’t thank me either.”

Atem’s lips twitched once before tightening into a thin line, disappointed. Kaiba didn’t know why he suddenly cared, but— 

“If you’re really sorry, you’ll be ready on Monday to help me with the work I’ve fallen behind on thanks to _Wheeler,”_ he blurted out, and froze, appalled with himself. 

But Atem paused beside the door and looked over his shoulder with curiously bright, warm eyes. Kaiba momentarily forgot all about his mortification and wondered why the hell Atem was _smiling_ at him—

“I’ll be there,” Atem vowed, bouncing on the balls of his feet and beaming up at him. “Monday morning. I’ll see you then.”

And he left, leaving Seto with a dizzying pounding in his head that rivalled the rapid pounding in his chest. 

* * *

**Author's note:**

Thank you for your patience <3 

Please let me know what you think, or yell at me for the late updates. Either works!


	4. Chapter 4

7:46

Atem looked at his watch again, then rapped his knuckles politely on the door. Again.

There still wasn’t an answer. 

Atem’s phone began to vibrate angrily in his pocket and without checking the caller ID, he answered, knowing that it had to be none other than Kaiba.

“Where are you?”

“What? I’m outside, Kaiba.” He turned, looking back at the door as if it somehow magically opened, before returning to the call. “Nobody’s letting me inside.”

_“What?”_

There was a beat of silence, before Kaiba resumed talking. His voice raised dangerously and crackled with static. “Where _exactly_ are you?”

Atem could feel his palms beginning to sweat. He turned nervously toward the door, hoping it would open any second now to reveal Kaiba standing behind it. “At...the mansion? Where are you?”

“At _KaibaCorp,_ where I told you to meet me!”

Atem’s face grew hot. ‘Kaiba, you didn’t—”

“Save it. My driver is on his way.”

“What? Do I just wait here?” 

But Kaiba had already hung up.

* * *

The ride to KaibaCorp, while technically only a few miles away into the center of the city, felt painfully long and awkward. 

Atem sat next to the window, cupping his chin in the palm of his hand and gazing outside through the perfectly polished, tinted glass at the crowds of people milling about the city, the students walking to school, and the towering heights of KaibaCorp looming in the distance, drawing closer with every passing minute. 

After he awkwardly thanked the chauffeur for the ride, and once the private car drove away with a silky purr of the engine, he stood in front of the steps to KC and looked up at the building dubiously, intimidated by the modern architectural masterpiece of shining, reflective glass panes and sleek vertical symmetry. 

Clients and work staff flowed in and out of the building. Atem felt out of place among the formally-dressed businessmen, but when the security guards gave him a strange look, he realized he had been standing without moving for far too long, steeled his shoulders, and walked into the building with the full confidence of knowing that Kaiba was waiting for him somewhere inside that enormous building.

* * *

Inside the elevator, he stared at the pane of buttons and tried to ignore the excitement rising in his chest as he ascended to the highest floor in the building. 

Of course Kaiba had to be above everyone else, he thought with a wry smile. 

Suddenly, the thought of Kaiba on top of him sprang to mind. Atem wistfully thought of that slender, pale torso, exposed when his arms had become trapped above his head, and imagined caressing it with his own hands, tracing down the lines of his narrow waist with open palms.

Atem shuddered.

As much as he liked the sight of Kaiba with his arms trapped over his head, he might like the sight of him sprawled out beneath him even more. 

Atem groaned and thunked his head against the button panel, and groaned again when the impact set off the resounding ping! of multiple floors being selected. 

Great. More time alone with his own fantasies about the CEO he was about to meet. 

Atem wrestled with the thought of touching that naked chest out of his mind, refused to think about holding the dip of his waist in between his hands and flicking his small pink nipples, and oh—

He was half-hard by the time the elevator finally reached the highest floor. 

Almost half an hour later than he said he would be there. 

When the elevator doors opened, Atem pressed the button to close then again, allowing himself enough time to compose himself before he had to meet Kaiba. There was no way that he could actually meet Kaiba with a semi, let alone work beside him when his thoughts were running rampant with images of the CEO sprawled out beneath him, or hovering over him, planted firmly in his lap. 

The minutes ticked by. He was now an additional five minutes late, then six, and his former excitement to see Kaiba was replaced with hesitation. 

He _almost_ wished he could duck back into the elevator and quietly disappear. He could already hear Kaiba berating him for being late, pictured the flushed, irate look on his face, and suddenly he didn’t entirely mind the idea of seeing getting all Kaiba worked up. 

He needed to stop. 

Rubbing a hand over his hot face, Atem stepped past the double doors of the elevator and approached the secretary’s desk, coming to a stop in front of her large desktop computer to discreetly keep the slowly-shrinking tent in his pants from eyesight. 

“I’m here to see—”

“You’re late,” she said matter-of-factly, without looking up from the document on her computer screen. 

Atem blinked, startled, and balked. “I know, but—”

“Follow me,” she interrupted, standing abruptly and gesturing toward the doors to Kaiba’s office. “Mr. Kaiba informed me that you are to come directly to his office.”

Atem sorely noted that she towered over him in her expensive-looking high heels. 

_Kaiba must pay his employees generously._

She approached the doors, knocked politely, and in a much mellower tone, announced his arrival to Kaiba. 

“Let him in!”

“Mr. Kaiba will see you now,” she sniffed, speaking once again in a normal voice, and Atem stepped inside.

The office was spacious and well-lit, and as modern in interior design as would be expected from the executive head of the largest tech corporation in the industry. The wall behind Kaiba’s sprawling desk was made entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the skyline of Domino’s bustling city center, and t was easy enough to imagine that the sunlight was warm and blinding on days when it filtered through the thick cluster of gray storm clouds. 

Atem registered the appearance of the room in a matter of split seconds, but his attention was immediately swept by the abrupt, disarming realization that Kaiba was standing _so close_ , towering over him, looking as handsome and collected as ever. 

Kaiba stepped past him to close the door, but when he turned again, the disapproval was written plainly on his face.

“You’re _late_ ,” Kaiba snapped, a curt echo of his secretary’s accusation. 

Atem’s previous unease faded and he stepped forward with a shrug, keeping his voice low and steady. “I thought I was meeting you at the mansion. But I’m here now, Kaiba.”

“I can see that. There’s a lot to be done today, so if you’re going to waste my time—”

“Just tell me what you need me to do,” Atem interrupted, walking past him to sit in the chair that had been rolled directly across Kaiba’s seat at the desk. 

It warmed him that Kaiba had clearly been anticipating his arrival. He enjoyed it almost as much as he enjoyed Kaiba’s stunned silence. 

Kaiba frowned and stared at him for a long moment, clearly perplexed and unused to being cut off or bossed around in his own domain, before he stalked to his desk and sank into his leather chair. Atem met those stormy blue eyes without faltering and he watched as Kaiba steepled his fingers and leaned onto his desk, placing his chin atop his interwoven fingers. 

Neither blinked. Kaiba tipped his chin up assertively. 

“Let’s get started.”

* * *

They worked in comfortable silence for well over four hours before Kaiba interrupted it. 

“It’s time for lunch.”

Atem looked up from the papers he was rubber-stamping and checked the time on the digital clock on Kaiba’s desk. He was startled to see that the hours had passed quickly once they had started working and fell into an easy routine of Kaiba passing him folders and telling him what to do, and Atem returning the completed tasks, much to Kaiba’s approval.

Atem stood and stretched his legs. He expected Kaiba to do the same, but he remained seated, staring at the screen of his computer just as impassively as before. 

“I thought you said it was time for lunch.” 

Kaiba looked at him coolly from the corner of his eye. “It is.”

“Aren’t you going to take a break?”

Kaiba’s fingers momentarily paused over the keyboard. “No. I don’t take lunch.”

Atem’s gaze skipped over Kaiba’s shoulder to the expensive coffee machine behind his desk. “Ah, I see.”

His stomach rumbled and his knees creaked in protest, but Atem sat down again and rolled his wheeled chair back to the desk. Kaiba finally looked up at him directly, exasperated.

“What are you doing?”

“If you’re not taking lunch, then I’m not either.”

Kaiba sat upright and leaned into his desk with an incredulous expression. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not. It’s only fair.”

Atem watched the suspicion form on Kaiba’s face. He shuffled a few papers around on his desk, cleared a few tabs from his computer, listless, before he fell still and stared at the desk. 

And then, resigned, “Did Mokuba put you up to this?”

Atem shook his head innocently and truthfully answered, “No. It’s just not right for you to work while I—”

“Alright, spare me the speech,” Kaiba growled. “Let’s go.”

Atem looked up at him, satisfied, and tried —and failed— to hide a pleased smile as he stood and followed Kaiba out of the office.

* * *

Kaiba selected a restaurant just outside the city center, claiming that any of the _half-decent_ restaurants in the area would be crowded at this lunch hour. 

Atem didn’t care where they ate, and as he sat next to Kaiba in the private car, food was the last thing on his mind. 

He couldn’t focus on the empty pit in his stomach when Kaiba was sitting close enough to touch, glaring out the window, aloof and sullen because he had been dragged out of his office to eat lunch against his will— even though Atem had offered that they _could_ have just stayed and worked through the rest of the afternoon. 

Privately, he much preferred this. 

Kaiba shifted, drawing his arms tightly across his chest, and it was all Atem could do to keep from leaning in and _sniffing_ him when the faint scent of Kaiba’s cologne drifted toward him. 

_He smells so good,_ he thought desperately, and bit his lip. 

On second thought, sitting this close to Kaiba was dangerous.

Atem tried to cross his ankles and adjust the seatbelt stretched tightly across his lap discreetly, without drawing attention to the fact that the rainy scent of Kaiba’s aftershave and the natural scent of his skin were beginning to rouse his interest. 

The rustling caught Kaiba’s attention and he cast an annoyed look over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

Atem folded his hands in his lap and looked back coolly at Kaiba. “Nothing.”

It was the wrong answer. Kaiba turned to face him fully and it took every ounce of restraint in Atem’s body to keep from squirming in place.

He had stared Kaiba down plenty of times across the arena, even across a school desk, but he had been so affected by his bored, mildly hostile glare or his sulky pout.

Then again, he had never woken up to dreams about fucking Seto Kaiba or tracing every curve and hollow of his naked torso with his tongue, closing his lips around a taut nipple while he shoved his hand down the front of those stupidly unprofessional tight black trousers. 

He vividly remembered dreaming of Kaiba sprawled out on the mattress beneath him, writhing and damn near wailing when Atem tongued heatedly at his—

Kaiba snapped his fingers in front of his face. 

“I know for a fact that you’re not going to transform back into Yugi, or whatever the hell would happen between the two of you, so stop spacing out. We’re here.”

* * *

Atem had never seen a lunch menu with such expensive entrees. 

His grasp on the concept of payment, prices, and yen was tenuous at best, but the numbers listed beside every course were substantial. 

What the hell was a Tajima Wagyu? 

His gaze drifted up from his confusing menu to Kaiba.

Kaiba easily fit in among this crowd. He was attractive and well-dressed, and he studied his menu calmly, clearly familiar with these expensive meats and seasonal delicacies. Atem gradually became more and more distracted by him until he hardly remembered the menu in his hands, far too busy observing his face and the distracted, distant look in his eyes, until the server returned for their orders and Atem realized he had no idea what he was going to order.

His face warmed when he felt the server _and_ Kaiba turn to look at him, one inquisitive and the other bored, and he froze helplessly. 

Kaiba waited just a second longer, before handing his menu to the server with a roll of his eyes. “The Kobe beefsteak. Two.” 

Relieved, Atem passed his menu along to the waiter with a polite nod, and watched another server step forward to ignite the tealight in the center of the table. 

It was only then that Atem registered that the ambient lighting in the room was intimately dark and bordering on romantic. The mellow golden light from the pendant lamps cast honey-toned highlights in Kaiba’s dark hair, and the flicker from the tealight in the center of the table warmed his skin, casting shadows along the hollows of Kaiba’s cheekbones and illuminating the soft bow of his upper lip.

Atem found himself staring wistfully and stifled a sigh, reproaching himself for even beginning to fantasize of kissing Kaiba. His gaze dropped from Kaiba's handsome, disinterested face to his crossed arms. His injured forearm rested on top of the other and the cut of his rolled shirt sleeve exposed the drawings on the surface of the cast again.

He perked up and leaned in, attention piqued, and finally made out that Kaiba’s cast was covered in brightly-colored, childish drawings of various duel monsters and a duel disk-- clearly Mokuba’s handiwork. 

It was so strangely unexpected, but even more strangely exactly what he expected of _Kaiba,_ and he couldn’t conceal a smile. 

Kaiba caught him staring and his expression became guarded. “What?”

“Nothing. How is your arm healing?”

Atem watched the mistrust deepen on Kaiba’s face and braced himself for a rude, scathing response — _why do_ you _care? It’s none of your business_ — but to his pleasant surprise, Kaiba took a calm sip from his cup of tea and, without meeting his gaze, answered, “It’s coming along. Just a few more weeks until I’m back at full capacity.”

“I’m pleased to hear that, Kaiba,” Atem murmured, voice colored with genuine warmth. 

Kaiba’s dark gaze flicked back to him, and he looked startled. It might have been a trick of the light, but Atem thought his cheeks became just a shade darker and his eyes were wide and vulnerable for just a second, before he turned his face away. 

“I don’t need your pity, Yu– Atem.” 

Atem ignored the lapse in name and traced the rim of his water glass with a fingertip, studying his reactions intently. “I’m not pitying you, Kaiba.”

“Then what are you doing?” Kaiba shot back defensively. 

“I’m sitting here with you and asking how you’re doing. I truly don’t pity you, Kaiba, I…” Atem licked his lips, faltered. He ducked his gaze to where Kaiba’s hands were folded on the table, stared at his knuckles until the fine lines in his soft-looking skin blurred together. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Kaiba directly. “I care about you.” 

Kaiba took a long, slow sip from his cup and continued to gaze at him over the rim of the delicate porcelain, eyes dark and unfathomable, pools of crystalline blue that concealed something deep beneath the surface. 

He finally opened his mouth to retort after a painfully long pause, but before he could speak, he was interrupted by the server’s return with complimentary pre-meal snacks and appetizers. 

Atem moodily stared at the bowl of freshly steamed edamame and beef tataki and wondered what Kaiba would have said if they had not been interrupted. He ached to bring it up and find out, but the mood had been ruined, the moment was lost, and whatever he was going to say would likely never be brought up again. 

“You seem to be well-known around here,” Atem remarked, careful to keep his voice light and conversational, without hinting at his bitter disappointment. 

Kaiba shrugged. “I kept the business from closing in its early days.” 

“That’s very—”

“This is the only place close enough to the city center with a half-decent menu,” Kaiba added hastily, sounding annoyed, as if he anticipated Atem’s surprise. “It’s not a big deal.”

Atem concealed a smile. “Okay.” 

“Besides—” 

Atem’s heart raced when Kaiba leaned in and gave him a coy look. 

“I’m well-known everywhere I go.”

* * *

Atem thought he would be too nervous to eat, but he polished off every bite of the marbled slices of beef and wondered why Yugi didn’t eat this more often. 

“Hey. After this, we need to return to the mansion,” Kaiba said casually, folding his napkin neatly and placing it onto the table. 

Atem waited for an explanation, staring at him curiously all the while, but it never came. 

“Why?”

“I need a flashdrive from my home office.”

Atem grinned and raised an eyebrow. “ _You_ forgot something?”

Kaiba set his jaw in annoyance. “I did _not._ I didn’t need it earlier, but now I do.”

Atem didn’t say anything, but stared at him with the same knowing smile. It was enough to make the color rise deliciously into the high apples of Kaiba’s cheeks and to make him squirm uncomfortably in his seat until he finally hissed, 

“Stop looking at me like that!”

“I’m not doing anything!” 

They waited in amiable silence for the waitress to return with Kaiba’s card. Atem watched her hand the tab back with a shy nod and wide eyes, and he couldn’t blame her for it— Kaiba just seemed to have that effect on everyone, and he didn’t even appear to notice. 

He continued to watch as Kaiba signed the receipt with a quick flourish and returned it to the waitress without so much as a single look in her direction, unaware of the way that she lingered hesitantly by the table for just a second longer, tab held tightly in her delicate, slender-fingered hands. 

Atem almost pitied her, until he wondered whether she would be Kaiba’s _type_ if he would just pull his nose out of his work long enough to go on a date. The thought of it made him freeze and become tense, and then he could hardly wait for her to turn around and leave. 

Kaiba remained oblivious to it all as he tucked his platinum card back into his wallet and he looked up impatiently. “Are you ready? Let’s go.”

Atem smiled. “Let’s go.”

* * *

They took the scenic route back to the mansion. It was springtime and the cherry blossoms were in full bloom, casting a faint shadow over the street that Kaiba raced down in his white sports car, taking full advantage of the empty lanes to drive at a higher speed than the crowded streets of the Domino city center allowed. 

Atem’s nose was nearly pressed against the passenger seat window and his breath fogged the glass as he watched the idyllic countryside pass in a pretty blur of colors. 

From the driver’s seat, Kaiba glanced over his shoulder at Atem and rolled his eyes. He was going to leave smudged fingerprints on his clean, tinted passenger side window, but there was something endearing and forgivable about the way Atem’s face glowed with delight, not just from the thin sunlight filtering in through a mild cloudfront. 

Kaiba tightened his grip on the steering wheel and looked straight ahead at the empty road. 

Atem was interfering with his productivity, he thought irritably, tapping his forefingers against the steering wheel. His help had been useful in the office, but it wasn’t worth the hour and a half he had taken to eat, and now he was becoming distracted by something as trivial as Atem’s contented reflection in the tinted window. 

He would put an end to whatever this was, this _excursion_ , after he found what he needed in his office. He could call for a car to drive Atem to the gameshop or to a friend’s house or wherever he needed to be, and it would be the last he would hear from Atem. 

Kaiba resigned himself to his plan and counted the minutes left on the road.

* * *

Atem followed him into the office, much to Kaiba’s displeasure. He could feel Atem watching him knowingly as he hunted for the right flashdrive, unlabeled among an entire assortment of unlabeled memory sticks, and Kaiba gnashed his teeth. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait downstairs?” he hinted, plugging a flashdrive into his laptop to check its contents. “I don’t need you for this.”

Atem shrugged and continued to explore the surface of his desk. “I don’t mind waiting.”

“Great.” 

“Did Mokuba draw those?” 

Kaiba looked down to his arm, surprised that Atem had noticed. “Yes.”

Atem bit his lip. “Did he ask permission to draw Hungry Burger?”

“No,” Kaiba admitted begrudgingly, and he snorted. “I hate that one. I just don’t have the time to have the cast reapplied.” 

Atem examined the drawing closely, fingertips gently brushing over the top of the plaster, and he revealed a rare smile. “Cute.” 

Kaiba caught his expression and before he could think, the words spilled out of his mouth. “Do you want to sign it?”

He took himself by surprise, making an offer like that— what the hell was he, an elementary school child with a cool, glow-in-the-dark cast that everyone wanted to sign between classes? He had never been that kid, for multiple reasons. 

But Atem surprised him even more when he nodded, eyes hiding shy enthusiasm and anticipation. 

Kaiba resigned himself to rummaging through his desk for a permanent marker and stretching out his arm.

Atem uncapped the marker —metallic blue, unsurprisingly— and looked for a clear space on the cast among Mokuba’s drawings. He hesitated for a long moment, before putting pen to plaster and beginning to draw a careful line. 

Kaiba couldn’t discern what Atem was drawing from this angle— he could only hope it was something that wasn’t horrifically humiliating or immature, and the thought of what _Wheeler_ would draw on him — _dicks, so many dicks,_ his mind supplied unhelpfully— made uncomfortable and wary. 

He wanted to jerk his arm away, just in case this was all part of the same awful prank that would go awry, but he resisted the impulse and simply studied Atem’s face while he had the moment to inspect him without his noticing. 

Atem’s attention was fully devoted to whatever he was writing on the cast— potentially an entire sermon on friendship or the heart of the cards, Kaiba thought with a roll of his eyes, and he just barely suppressed a groan. Atem’s brow was knotted in concentration, the tip of his tongue poking out past his full lips, and the only sound between them was the soft, squeaky noise of the marker pressing into the plaster.

Until that moment, Kaiba had never had the opportunity to notice just how mesmerizing Atem’s eyes were up close, or that his features were fine and delicate, even strangely handsome. 

Kaiba absently wondered why it had taken him so long to notice— before he stiffened and reminded himself that he shouldn’t even care. 

Atem’s lips twitched into a smile and it was the only warning Kaiba had before he looked up. 

He quickly looked away, dropping his gaze to his cast, and he focused on deciphering what Atem had scrawled on his cast rather than marvelling over the expression of surprise that had crossed over Atem’s face in the split second that their eyes had met.

Kaiba closed his eyes to center himself, then looked again at his cast, and he suddenly realized that he wasn’t staring at a word or a sentence, but at a drawing. He craned his neck to determine what it was— before he tensed and made a face. 

“Kuriboh?”

“Yes!” Atem beamed. 

He looked so pleased with himself that Kaiba didn’t know whether to choke in disbelief or to kick him away. 

Although at this distance, it would be even easier to pull him in by the collar of his black t-shirt and find out just how soft Atem’s lips felt against his own.

Kaiba cleared his throat and vanished the intrusive thought from his mind. He stared at the Kuriboh on his cast for a long moment, before he laughed derisively. 

“You’re cursing my recovery with this useless creature, you know.” 

“He’s not useless. He’s a valuable friend and an excellent monster in any quality deck. Besides, he’s a defense monster! He’s a protection charm...”

Kaiba pursed his lips. “That would have been useful _before_ Wheeler decided to get involved and put us in this situation.”

“Are you admitting that Kuriboh _is_ a good defense monster?” 

“In your dreams! You’ve used him in the last three duels and you still _lost,_ so you’re either lying to me now or you’re lying on the field when you say that you’re giving me your all.”

The playful light in Atem’s eyes flickered and grew dark, guarded. “Kaiba, don’t start this again.”

“Why not?” Kaiba challenged. He felt the familiar spark light under his skin and catch fire. “If Kuriboh is _such_ a good monster, he should have come in handy when you were down to your last one hundred life points!”

“Kaiba—”

“So tell me. Why wasn’t he?!”

“I don’t know!” Atem shouted, and Kaiba looked at him, delighted. “I don’t know why I keep losing! I can’t explain it, but it happens, Kaiba, _even if_ it had never happened until now!” 

Atem’s glare became baleful. “Besides, why should it matter to you? You got what you always wanted, Kaiba! You defeated me!” 

“That’s not good enough,” Kaiba bit out through a clenched jaw. The discomfort burned in the center of his chest and threatened to claw its way out from between his ribs. “You’re not trying hard enough, or you’re...you’re _failing!_ It’s not enough! You’re supposed to give me your all!” 

Atem’s fury abruptly became exhaustion. He pressed his fingertips to his temples and glared up at Kaiba from beneath his eyelashes. “Kaiba...have you considered that I _have_ given you everything? It’s—”

“That’s not it,” Kaiba interjected, cutting him off sharply. “That’s a lie and _I know it._ ” 

“Kaiba—”

“You’re lying! Duel me. Duel me right now and prove to me that you’re not holding out! Or are you just going to keep wasting my time?” 

In the heat of the moment, Atem stretched on the tips of his toes, reached up, and pulled Kaiba down to lock their lips together angrily. 

Kaiba froze in surprise beneath him and tried to jerk away by reflex, but Atem coaxed him to stay in place, pressing his thumbs into the soft skin of his cheeks, lips pressed together firmly, but with frustration that ebbed into something far more tender.

When they parted, they stared at one another in dumbstruck silence, before Atem’s gaze dropped to Kaiba's lips. This time, when he reached for Kaiba’s face, he yielded and met his lips, allowing Atem to take the lead and kiss him hard, kiss him until a soft sigh sounded in his throat and became trapped behind his nose. Atem inhaled his scent and taste and he _moaned_ when Kaiba's warm, velvety tongue swept shyly across his lower lip. Kaiba slowly gained confidence, leaning into his hands and into his touch, almost folding into himself to return the kiss, before Atem broke away with wide eyes. 

“I’m leaving,” he stammered, and before Kaiba could begin to yell or threaten to throw him out with security, he turned on heel and ran out from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Kuriboh on Seto's cast, drawn by my friend Buu!
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> Cute, huh!?
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> Please leave a review! It gives me much-needed inspiration (+120%) to write more!  
> This wasn’t the original ending I had in mind....oops?  
> Thank you for reading! (*´꒳`*)


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